IC-NRLF 


B    3 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  CRUZ 


SANTA     CRUZ 


Gift 

In  Memory  of 
JAY  DWIGGINS,  JR. 


•  ' 


GALLEGHER,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


GALLEGHER 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

RICHARD   HARDING   DAVIS 


TWENTY-TWO   THOUSAND  FIVE  HUNDRED. 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1893 


COPYRIGHT,   1891, 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


KorfoooU  $rrsg : 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO   MY   MOTHER. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

GALLEGHER:  A  NEWSPAPER  STORY  ...       1 

A  WALK  UP  THE  AVENUE 58 

MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND,  MR.  RAEGEN  .     69 

THE  OTHER  WOMAN 101 

THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  No.  8  ....  128 
"THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE"  .  .  145 
THE  CYNICAL  Miss  CATHERWAIGHT  .  .  .  178 
VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS.  .  .  203 

VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR 211 

VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN.  .  226 


vii 


GALLEGHER: 

A  NEWSPAPER   STORY. 


WE  had  had  so  many  office-boys  before  Gal 
legher  came  among  us  that  they  had  begun 
to  lose  the  characteristics  of  individuals,  and 
became  merged  in  a  composite  photograph  of 
small  boys,  to  whom  we  applied  the  generic 
title  of  "  Here,  you  " ;  or,  "  You,  boy." 

We  had  had  sleepy  boys,  and  lazy  boys, 
and  bright,  "smart"  boys,  who  became  so 
familiar  on  so  short  an  acquaintance  that 
we  were  forced  to  part  with  them  to  save 
our  own  self-respect. 

They  generally  graduated  into  district-mes 
senger  boys,  and  occasionally  returned  to  us 
in  blue  coats  with  nickel-plated  buttons,  and 
patronized  us. 

But  Gallegher  was  something  different 
from  anything  we  had  experienced  before. 
Gallegher  was  short  and  broad  in  build,  with 

l 


2  GALLEGUER: 

a  solid,  muscular  broadness,  and  not  a  fat 
and  dumpy  shortness.  He  wore  perpetually 
on  his  face  a  happy  and  knowing  smile,  as  if 
you  and  the  world  in  general  were  not  im 
pressing  him  as  seriously  as  you  thought  you 
were,  and  his  eyes,  which  were  very  black 
and  very  bright,  snapped  intelligently  at  you 
like  those  of  a  little  black-and-tan  terrier. 

All  Gallegher  knew  had  been  learnt  on  the 
streets ;  not  a  very  good  school  in  itself,  but 
one  that  turns  out  very  knowing  scholars. 
And  Gallegher  had  attended  both  morning 
and  evening  sessions.  He  could  not  tell  you 
who  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  were,  nor  could  he 
name  the  thirteen  original  States,  but  he 
knew  all  the  officers  of  the  twenty-second 
police  district  by  name,  and  he  could  distin 
guish  the  clang  of  a  fire-engine's  gong  from 
that  of  a  patrol-wagon  or  an  ambulance  fully 
two  blocks  distant.  It  was  Gallegher  who 
rang  the  alarm  when  the  Woolwich  Mills 
caught  fire,  while  the  officer  on  the  beat  was 
asleep,  and  it  was  Gallegher  who  led  the 
"Black  Diamonds"  against  the  "Wharf 
Rats,"  when  they  used  to  stone  each  other 
to  their  hearts'  content  on  the  coal-wharves 
of  Richmond. 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  3 

I  am  afraid,  now  that  I  see  these  facts 
written  down,  that  Gallegher  was  not  a  repu 
table  character ;  but  he  was  so  very  young 
and  so  very  old  for  his  years  that  we  all 
liked  him  very  much  nevertheless.  He  lived 
in  the  extreme  northern  part  of  Philadelphia, 
where  the  cotton-  and  woollen-mills  run  down 
to  the  river,  and  how  he  ever  got  home  after 
leaving  the  Press  building  at  two  in  tha 
morning,  was  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
office.  Sometimes  he  caught  a  night  car,  and 
sometimes  he  walked  all  the  way,  arriving  at 
the  little  house,  where  his  mother  and  him 
self  lived  alone,  at  four  in  the  morning.  Oc 
casionally  he  was  given  a  ride  on  an  early 
milk-cart,  or  on  one  of  the  newspaper  deliv 
ery  wagons,  with  its  high  piles  of  papers  still 
damp  and  sticky  from  the  press.  He  knew 
several  drivers  of  "  night  hawks  "  —  those 
cabs  that  prowl  the  streets  at  night  looking 
for  belated  passengers  —  and  when  it  was  a 
very  cold  morning  he  would  not  go  home  at 
all,  but  would  crawl  into  one  of  these  cabs 
and  sleep,  curled  up  on  the  cushions,  until 
daylight. 

Besides  being  quick  and  cheerful,  Galle 
gher  possessed  a  power  of  amusing  the  Press's 


4  GALLEGHER : 

young  men  to  a  degree  seldom  attained  by 
the  ordinary  mortal.  His  clog-dancing  on  the 
city  editor's  desk,  when  that  gentleman  was 
up-stairs  fighting  for  two  more  columns  of 
space,  was  always  a  source  of  innocent  joy  to 
us,  and  his  imitations  of  the  comedians  of 
the  variety  halls  delighted  even  the  dramatic 
critic,  from  whom  the  comedians  themselves 
failed  to  force  a  smile. 

But  Gallegher's  chief  characteristic  was  his 
love  for  that  element  of  news  generically 
classed  as  "crime." 

Not  that  he  ever  did  anything  criminal 
himself.  On  the  contrary,  his  was  rather 
the  work  of  the  criminal  specialist,  and  his 
morbid  interest  in  the  doings  of  all  queer 
characters,  his  knowledge  of  their  methods, 
their  present  whereabouts,  and  their  past 
deeds  of  transgression  often  rendered  him 
a  valuable  ally  to  our  police  reporter,  whose 
daily  f euilletons  were  the  only  portion  of  the 
paper  Gallegher  deigned  to  read. 

In  Gallegher  the  detective  element  was 
abnormally  developed.  He  had  shown  this 
on  several  occasions,  and  to  excellent  purpose. 

Once  the  paper  had  sent  him  into  a  Home 
for  Destitute  Orphans  which  was  believed  to 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  5 

be  grievously  mismanaged,  and  Gallegher, 
while  playing  the  part  of  a  destitute  orphan, 
kept  his  eyes  open  to  what  was  going  on 
around  him  so  faithfully  that  the  story  he 
told  of  the  treatment  meted  out  to  the  real 
orphans  was  sufficient  to  rescue  the  unhappy 
little  wretches  from  the  individual  who  had 
them  in  charge,  and  to  have  the  individual 
himself  sent  to  jail. 

Gallegher's  knowledge  of  the  aliases,  terms 
of  imprisonment,  and  various  misdoings  of  the 
leading  criminals  in  Philadelphia  was  almost 
as  thorough  as  that  of  the  chief  of  police 
himself,  and  he  could  tell  to  an  hour  when 
44  Dutchy  Mack  "  was  to  be  let  out  of  prison, 
and  could  identify  at  a  glance  "  Dick  Oxford, 
confidence  man,"  as  "  Gentleman  Dan,  petty 
thief." 

There  were,  at  this  time,  only  two  pieces 
of  news  in  any  of  the  papers.  The  least 
important  of  the  two  was  the  big  fight  be 
tween  the  Champion  of  the  United  States 
and  the  Would-be  Champion,  arranged  to 
take  place  near  Philadelphia ;  the  second  was 
the  Burrbank  murder,  which  was  filling  space 
in  newspapers  all  over  the  world,  from  New 
York  to  Bombay. 


6  GALLEGHER : 

Richard  F.  Bun-bank  was  one  of  the  most 
prominent  of  New  York's  railroad  lawyers; 
he  was  also,  as  a  matter  of  course,  an  owner 
of  much  railroad  stock,  and  a  very  wealthy 
man.  He  had  been  spoken  of  as  a  political 
possibility  for  many  high  offices,  and,  as  the 
counsel  for  a  great  railroad,  was  known  even 
further  than  the  great  railroad  itself  had 
stretched  its  system. 

At  six  o'clock  one  morning  he  was  found 
by  his  butler  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  hall 
stairs  with  two  pistol  wounds  above  his  heart. 
He  was  quite  dead.  His  safe,  to  which  only 
he  and  his  secretary  had  the  keys,  was  found 
open,  and  $200,000  in  bonds,  stocks,  and 
money,  which  had  been  placed  there  only 
the  night  before,  was  found  missing.  The 
secretary  was  missing  also.  His  name  was 
Stephen  S.  Hade,  and  his  name  and  his  de 
scription  had  been  telegraphed  and  cabled  to 
all  parts  of  the  world.  There  was  enough 
circumstantial  evidence  to  show,  beyond  any 
question  or  possibility  of  mistake,  that  he 
was  the  murderer. 

It  made  an  enormous  amount  of  talk,  and 
unhappy  individuals  were  being  arrested  all, 
over  the  country,  and  sent  on  to  New  York 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  7 

for  identification.  Three  had  been  arrested 
at  Liverpool,  and  one  man  just  as,  he  landed 
at  Sidney,  Australia.  But  so  far  the  mur 
derer  had  escaped. 

We  were  all  talking  about  it  one  night,  as 
everybody  else  was  all  over  the  country,  in 
the  local  room,  and  the  city  editor  said  it  was 
worth  a  fortune  to  any  one  who  chanced  to 
run  against  Hade  and  succeeded  in  handing 
him  over  to  the  police.  Some  of  us  thought 
Hade  had  taken  passage  from  some  one  of  the 
smaller  seaports,  and  others  were  of  the 
opinion  that  he  had  buried  himself  in  some 
cheap  lodging-house  in  New  York,  or  in  one 
of  the  smaller  towns  in  New  Jersey. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  meet  him  out 
walking,  right  here  in  Philadelphia,"  said 
one  of  the  staff.  "  He'll  be  disguised,  of 
course,  but  you  could  always  tell  him  by  the 
absence  of  the  trigger  finger  on  his  right  hand. 
It's  missing,  you  know ;  shot  off  when  he  was 
a  boy." 

"  You  want  to  look  for  a  man  dressed  like 
a  tough,"  said  the  city  editor;  "for  as  this 
fellow  is  to  all  appearances  a  gentleman,  he 
will  try  to  look  as  little  like  a  gentleman  as 
possible." 


8  GALLEGHEE  : 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Gallegher,  with  that 
calm  impertinence  that  made  him  dear  to  us. 
"  He'll  dress  just  like  a  gentleman.  Toughs 
don't  wear  gloves,  and  you  see  he's  got  to 
wear  'em.  The  first  thing  he  thought  of  after 
doing  for  Burrbank  was  of  that  gone  finger, 
and  how  he  was  to  hide  it.  He  stuffed  the 
finger  of  that  glove  with  cotton  so's  to  make 
it  look  like  a  whole  finger,  and  the  first  time 
he  takes  off  that  glove  they've  got  him  — 
see,  and  he  knows  it.  So  what  youss  want  to 
do  is  to  look  for  a  man  with  gloves  on.  I've 
been  a  doing  it  for  two  weeks  now,  and  I  can 
tell  you  it's  hard  work,  for  everybody  wears 
gloves  this  kind  of  weather.  But  if  you  look 
long  enough  you'll  find  him.  And  when  you 
think  it's  him,  go  up  to  him  and  hold  out 
your  hand  in  a  friendly  way,  like  a  bunco- 
steerer,  and  shake  his  hand ;  and  if  you  feel 
that  his  forefinger  ain't  real  flesh,  but  just 
wadded  cotton,  than  grip  to  it  with  your 
right  and  grab  his  throat  with  your  left,  and 
holler  for  help." 

There  was  an  appreciative  pause. 

"I  see,  gentlemen,"  said  the  city  editor, 
dryly,  "that  Gallegher's  reasoning  has  im 
pressed  you ;  and  I  also  see  that  before  the 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORF.  9 

week  is  out  all  of  my  young  men  will  be 
under  bonds  for  assaulting  innocent  pedes 
trians  whose  only  offence  is  that  they  wear 
gloves  in  midwinter." 

******* 

It  was  about  a  week  after  this  that  Detec 
tive  Hefflefinger,  of  Inspector  Byrnes's  staff, 
came  over  to  Philadelphia  after  a  burglar,  of 
whose  whereabouts  he  had  been  misinformed 
by  telegraph.  He  brought  the  warrant,  requi 
sition,  and  other  necessary  papers  with  him, 
but  the  burglar  had  flown.  One  of  our  re 
porters  had  worked  on  a  New  York  paper, 
and  knew  Hefflefinger,  and  the  detective 
came  to  the  office  to  see  if  he  could  help  him 
in  his  so  far  unsuccessful  search. 

He  gave  Gallegher  his  card,  and  after 
Gallegher  had  read  it,  and  had  discovered 
who  the  visitor  was,  he  became  so  demoral 
ized  that  he  was  absolutely  useless. 

"  One  of  Byrnes's  men,"  was  a  much  more 
awe-inspiring  individual  to  Gallegher  than 
a  member  of  the  Cabinet.  He  accordingly 
seized  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  leaving  his 
duties  to  be  looked  after  by  others,  hastened 
out  after  the  object  of  his  admiration,  who 
found  his  suggestions  and  knowledge  of  the 


10  GALLEGHER : 

city  so  valuable,  and  his  company  so  enter* 
taming,  that  they  became  very  intimate,  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  together. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  managing  editor  had 
instructed  his  subordinates  to  inform  Galle- 
gher,  when  he  condescended  to  return,  that 
his  services  were  no  longer  needed.  Galle- 
gher  had  played  truant  once  too  often.  Un 
conscious  of  this,  he  remained  with  his  new 
friend  until  late  the  same  evening,  and  started 
the  next  afternoon  toward  the  Press  office. 

As  I  have  said,  Gallegher  lived  in  the 
most  distant  part  of  the  city,  not  many  min 
utes'  walk  from  the  Kensington  railroad  sta 
tion,  where  trains  ran  into  the  suburbs  and 
on  to  New  York. 

It  was  in  front  of  this  station  that  a 
smoothly  shaven,  well-dressed  man  brushed 
past  Gallegher  and  hurried  up  the  steps  to 
the  ticket  office. 

He  held  a  walking-stick  in  his  right  hand, 
and  Gallegher,  who  now  patiently  scrutinized 
the  hands  of  every  one  who  wore  gloves,  saw 
that  while  three  fingers  of  the  man's  hand 
were  closed  around  the  cane,  the  fourth  stood 
out  in  almost  a  straight  line  with  his  palm. 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  11 

Galleglier  stopped  with  a  gasp  and  with  a 
trembling  all  over  his  little  body,  and  his 
brain  asked  with  a  throb  if  it  could  be  pos 
sible.  But  possibilities  and  probabilities  were 
to  be  discovered  later.  Now  was  the  time 
for  action. 

He  was  after  the  man  in  a  moment,  hang 
ing  at  his  heels  and  his  eyes  moist  with  ex 
citement. 

He  heard  the  man  ask  for  a  ticket  to 
Torresdale,  a  little  station  just  outside  of 
Philadelphia,  and  when  he  was  out  of  hear 
ing,  but  not  out  of  sight,  purchased  one  for 
the  same  place. 

The  stranger  went  into  the  smoking-car, 
and  seated  himself  at  one  end  toward  the 
door.  Galleglier  took  his  place  at  the  oppo 
site  end. 

He  was  trembling  all  over,  and  suffered 
from  a  slight  feeling  of  nausea.  He  guessed 
it  came  from  fright,  not  of  any  bodily  harm 
that  might  come  to  him,  but  at  the  probabil 
ity  of  failure  in  his  adventure  and  of  its  most 
momentous  possibilities. 

The  stranger  pulled  his  coat  collar  up 
around  his  ears,  hiding  the  lower  portion  of 
his  face,  but  not  concealing  the  resemblance 


12  GALLEGHER : 

in  his  troubled  eyes  and  close-shut  lips  to  the 
likenesses  of  the  murderer  Hade. 

They  reached  Torresdale  in  half  an  hour, 
and  the  stranger,  alighting  quickly,  struck 
off  at  a  rapid  pace  down  the  country  road 
leading  to  the  station. 

Gallegher  gave  him  a  hundred  yards'  start, 
and  then  followed  slowly  after.  The  road  ran 
between  fields  and  past  a  few  frame-houses 
set  far  from  the  road  in  kitchen  gardens. 

Once  or  twice  the  man  looked  back  over 
his  shoulder,  but  he  saw  only  a  dreary  length 
of  road  with  a  small  boy  splashing  through 
the  slush  in  the  midst  of  it  and  stopping 
every  now  and  again  to  throw  snowballs  at 
belated  sparrows. 

After  a  ten  minutes'  walk  the  stranger 
turned  into  a  side  road  which  led  to  only 
one  place,  the  Eagle  Inn,  an  old  roadside 
hostelry  known  now  as  the  headquarters 
for  pothunters  from  the  Philadelphia  game 
market  and  the  battle-ground  of  many  a 
cock-fight. 

Gallegher  knew  the  place  well.  He  and 
his  young  companions  had  often  stopped 
there  when  out  chestnutting  on  holidays  in 
the  autumn. 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  13 

The  son  of  the  man  who  kept  it  had  often 
accompanied  them  on  their  excursions,  and 
though  the  boys  of  the  city  streets  considered 
him  a  dumb  lout,  they  respected  him  some 
what  owing  to  his  inside  knowledge  of  dog- 
and  cock-fights. 

The  stranger  entered  the  inn  at  a  side  door, 
and  Gallegher,  reaching  it  a  few  minutes 
later,  let  him  go  for  the  time  being,  and  set 
about  finding  his  occasional  playmate,  young 
Keppler. 

Keppler's  offspring  was  found  in  the  wood 
shed. 

"  'Tain't  hard  to  guess  what  brings  you  out 
here,"  said  the  tavern-keeper's  son,  with  a 
grin  ;  "  it's  the  fight." 

"  What  fight  ?  "  asked  Gallegher,  unguard 
edly. 

"What  fight?  Why,  the  fight,"  returned 
his  companion,  with  the  slow  contempt  of 
superior  knowledge.  "  It's  to  come  off  here 
to-night.  You  knew  that  as  well  as  me ; 
anyway  your  sportin'  editor  knows  it.  He 
got  the  tip  last  night,  but  that  won't  help 
you  any.  You  needn't  think  there's  any 
chance  of  your  getting  a  peep  at  it.  Why, 
tickets  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  a  piece  I " 


14  GALLEGHER  : 

"Whew!"  whistled  Gallegher,  "where's 
it  to  be?" 

"In  the  barn,"  whispered  Keppler.  "I 
helped  'em  fix  the  ropes  this  morning,  I  did." 

"  Gosh,  but  you're  in  luck,"  exclaimed 
Gallegher,  with  flattering  envy.  "  Couldn't 
I  jest  get  a  peep  at  it  ?  " 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  gratified  Keppler. 
"  There's  a  winder  with  a  wooden  shutter  at 
the  back  of  the  barn.  You  can  get  in  by  it, 
if  you  have  some  one  to  boost  you  up  to  the 
sill." 

"  Sa-a-y,"  drawled  Gallegher,  as  if  some 
thing  had  but  just  that  moment  reminded 
him.  "  Who's  that  gent  who  come  down  the 
road  just  a  bit  ahead  of  me  —  him  with  the 
cape-coat !  Has  he  got  anything  to  do  with 
the  fight?" 

"  Him  ?  "  repeated  Keppler  in  tones  of  sin 
cere  disgust.  "  No-oh,  he  ain't  no  sport. 
He's  queer,  Dad  thinks.  He  come  here  one 
day  last  week  about  ten  in  the  morning,  said 
his  doctor  told  him  to  go  out  'en  the  country 
for  his  health.  He's  stuck  up  and  citified, 
and  wears  gloves,  and  takes  his  meals  private 
in  his  room,  and  all  that  sort  of  ruck.  They 
was  saying  in  the  saloon  last  night  that  they 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  15 

thought  he  was  hiding  from  something,  and 
Dad,  just  to  try  him,  asks  him  last  night  if 
he  was  coming  to  see  the  fight.  He  looked 
sort  of  scared,  and  said  he  didn't  want  to  see 
no  fight.  And  then  Dad  says,  4 1  guess  you 
mean  you  don't  want  no  fighters  to  see  you.' 
Dad  didn't  mean  no  harm  by  it,  just  passed 
it  as  a  joke ;  but  Mr.  Carleton,  as  he  calls 
himself,  got  white  as  a  ghost  an'  says,  I'll  go 
to  the  fight  willing  enough,  and  begins  to 
laugh  and  joke.  And  this  morning  he  went 
right  into  the  bar-room,  where  all  the  sports 
were  setting,  arid  said  he  was  going  into  town 
to  see  some  friends ;  and  as  he  starts  off  he 
laughs  an'  says,  'This  don't  look  as  if  I  was 
afraid  of  seeing  people,  does  it  ? '  but  Dad 
says  it  was  just  bluff  that  made  him  do  it, 
and  Dad  thinks  that  if  he  hadn't  said  what 
he  did,  this  Mr.  Carleton  wouldn't  have  left 
his  room  at  all." 

Gallegher  had  got  all  he  wanted,  and  much 
more  than  he  had  hoped  for  —  so  much  more 
that  his  walk  back  to  the  station  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  triumphal  march. 

He  had  twenty  minutes  to  wait  for  the 
next  train,  and  it  seemed  an  hour.  While 
waiting  he  sent  a  telegram  to  HefBefinger  at 


16  GALLEGHER : 

his  hotel.  It  read:  "Your  man  is  near  the 
Torresdale  station,  on  Pennsylvania  Railroad ; 
take  cab,  and  meet  me  at  station.  Wait  until 
I  come.  GALLEGHER." 

With  the  exception  of  one  at  midnight,  no 
other  train  stopped  at  Torresdale  that  even 
ing,  hence  the  direction  to  take  a  cab. 

The  train  to  the  city  seemed  to  Gallegher 
to  drag  itself  by  inches.  It  stopped  and 
backed  at  purposeless  intervals,  waited  for 
an  express  to  precede  it,  and  dallied  at  sta 
tions,  and  when,  at  last,  it  reached  the  ter 
minus,  Gallegher  was  out  before  it  had 
stopped  and  was  in  the  cab  and  off  on  his 
way  to  the  home  of  the  sporting  editor. 

The  sporting  editor  was  at  dinner  and  came 
out  in  the  hall  to  see  him,  with  his  napkin  in 
his  hand.  Gallegher  explained  breathlessly 
that  he  had  located  the  murderer  for  whom 
the  police  of  two  continents  were  looking, 
and  that  he  believed,  in  order  to  quiet  the 
suspicions  of  the  people  with  whom  he  was 
hiding,  that  he  would  be  present  at  the  fight 
that  night. 

The  sporting  editor  led  Gallegher  into  his 
library  arid  shut  the  door.  "  Now,"  he  said, 
"  go  over  all  that  again." 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  17 

Gallegher  went  over  it  again  in  detail,  and 
added  how  he  had  sent  for  Hefflefinger  to 
make  the  arrest  in  order  that  it  might  be 
kept  from  the  knowledge  of  the  local  police 
and  from  the  Philadelphia  reporters. 

"What  I  want  Hefflefinger  to  do  is  to 
arrest  Hade  with  the  warrant  he  has  for  the 
burglar,"  explained  Gallegher ;  "  and  to  take 
him  on  to  New  York  on  the  owl  train  that 
passes  Torresdale  at  one.  It  don't  get  to 
Jersey  City  until  four  o'clock,  one  hour  after 
the  morning  papers  go  to  press.  Of  course, 
we  must  fix  Hefflefinger  so's  he'll  keep  quiet 
and  not  tell  who  his  prisoner  really  is." 

The  sporting  editor  reached  his  hand  out 
to  pat  Gallegher  on  the  head,  but  changed 
his  mind  and  shook  hands  with  him  instead. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  "you  are  an  infant 
phenomenon.  If  I  can  pull  the  rest  of  this 
thing  off  to-night  it  will  mean  the  15000  re 
ward  and  fame  galore  for  you  and  the  paper. 
Now,  I'm  going  to  write  a  note  to  the  man 
aging  editor,  and  you  can  take  it  around  to 
him  and  tell  him  what  you've  done  and  what 
I  am  going  to  do,  and  he'll  take  you  back  on 
the  paper  and  raise  your  salary.  Perhaps  you 
didn't  know  you've  been  discharged  ?  " 


18  GALLEGHEE : 

"Do  you  think  you  ain't  a-going  to  take 
me  with  you?"  demanded  Gallegher. 

"  Why,  certainly  not.  Why  should  I  ?  It  all 
lies  with  the  detective  and  myself  now.  You've 
done  your  share,  and  done  it  well.  If  the 
man's  caught,  the  reward's  yours.  '  But  you'd 
only  be  in  the  way  now.  You'd  better  go  to 
the  office  and  make  your  peace  with  the  chief." 

"If  the  paper  can  get  along  without  me, 
I  can  get  along  without  the  old  paper,"  said 
Gallegher,  hotly.  "And  if  I  ain't  a-going 
with  you,  you  ain't  neither,  for  I  know  where 
Hefflefinger  is  to  be,  and  you  don't,  and  I 
won't  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  very  well,"  replied  the 
sporting  editor,  weakly  capitulating.  "I'll 
send  the  note  by  a  messenger;  only  mind, 
if  you  lose  your  place,  don't  blame  me." 

Gallegher  wondered  how  this  man  could 
value  a  week's  salary  against  the  excitement 
of  seeing  a  noted  criminal  run  down,  and  of 
getting  the  news  to  the  paper,  and  to  that 
one  paper  alone. 

From  that  moment  the  sporting  editor  sank 
in  Gallegher's  estimation. 

Mr.  Dwyer  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  scrib 
bled  off  the  following  note : 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  19 

"  I  have  received  reliable  information  that 
Hade,  the  Burr  bank  murderer,  will  be  present 
at  the  fight  to-night.  We  have  arranged  it 
so  that  he  will  be  arrested  quietly  and  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  fact  may  be  kept 
from  all  other  papers.  I  need  not  point  out 
to  you  that  this  will  be  the  most  important 
piece  of  news  in  the  country  to-morrow. 

"Yours,  etc.,         MICHAEL  E.  DWYER." 

The  sporting  editor  stepped  into  the  wait 
ing  cab,  while  Gallegher  whispered  the  direc 
tions  to  the  driver.  He  was  told  to  go  first 
to  a  district-messenger  office,  and  from  there 
up  to  the  Ridge  Avenue  Road,  out  Broad 
Street,  and  on  to  the  old  Eagle  Inn,  near 
Torresdale. 

It  was  a  miserable  night.  The  rain  and 
snow  were  falling  together,  and  freezing  as 
they  fell.  The  sporting  editor  got  out  to 
send  his  message  to  the  Press  office,  and 
then  lighting  a  cigar,  and  turning  up  the 
collar  of  his  great-coat,  curled  up  in  the 
corner  of  the  cab. 

"  Wake  me  when  we  get  there,  Gallegher," 
he  said.  He  knew  he  had  a  long  ride,  and 


20  GALLEGHEE  .' 

much  rapid  work  before  him,  and  he  was 
preparing  for  the  strain. 

To  Gallegher  the  idea  of  going  to  sleep 
seemed  almost  criminal.  From  the  dark  cor 
ner  of  the  cab  his  eyes  shone  with  excitement, 
and  with  the  awful  joy  of  anticipation.  He 
glanced  every  now  and  then  to  where  the 
sporting  editor's  cigar  shone  in  the  darkness, 
and  watched  it  as  it  gradually  burnt  more 
dimly  and  went  out.  The  lights  in  the  shop 
windows  threw  a  broad  glare  across  the  ice 
on  the  pavements,  and  the  lights  from  the 
lamp-posts  tossed  the  distorted  shadow  of 
the  cab,  and  the  horse,  and  the  motionless 
driver,  sometimes  before  and  sometimes  be 
hind  them. 

After  half  an  hour  Gallegher  slipped  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  cab  and  dragged  out  a 
lap-robe,  in  which  he  wrapped  himself.  It 
was  growing  colder,  and  the  damp,  keen 
wind  swept  in  through  the  cracks  until  the 
window-frames  and  woodwork  were  cold  to 
the  touch. 

An  hour  passed,  and  the  cab  was  still  moving 
more  slowly  over  the  rough  surface  of  partly 
paved  streets,  and  by  single  rows  of  new 
houses  standing  at  different  angles  to  each 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  21 

other  in  fields  covered  with  ash-heaps  and 
brick-kilns.  Here  and  there  the  gaudy  lights 
of  a  drug-store,  and  the  forerunner  of  sub 
urban  civilization,  shone  from  the  end  of  a 
new  block  of  houses,  and  the  rubber  cape  of 
an  occasional  policeman  showed  in  the  light 
of  the  lamp-post  that  he  hugged  for  comfort. 

Then  even  the  houses  disappeared,  and  the 
cab  dragged  its  way  between  truck  farms, 
with  desolate-looking  glass-covered  beds,  and 
pools  of  water,  half-caked  with  ice,  and  bare 
trees,  and  interminable  fences. 

Once  or  twice  the  cab  stopped  altogether, 
and  Gallegher  could  hear  the  driver  swearing 
to  himself,  or  at  the  horse,  or  the  roads.  At 
last  they  drew  up  before  the  station  at  Tor- 
resdale.  It  was  quite  deserted,  and  only  a 
single  light  cut  a  swath  in  the  darkness  and 
showed  a  portion  of  the  platform,  the  ties, 
and  the  rails  glistening  in  the  rain.  They 
walked  twice  past  the  light  before  a  figure 
stepped  out  of  the  shadow  and  greeted  them 
cautiously. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Dwyer,  of  the  Press"  said  the 
sporting  editor,  briskly.  "  You've  heard  of 
me,  perhaps.  Well,  there  shouldn't  be  any 
difficulty  in  our  making  a  deal,  should  there  ? 


22  GALLEGHER  : 

This  boy  here  has  found  Hade,  and  we  have 
reason  to  believe  he  will  be  among  the  spec 
tators  at  the  fight  to-night.  We  want  you 
to  arrest  him  quietly,  and  as  secretly  as  pos 
sible.  You  can  do  it  with  your  papers  and 
your  badge  easily  enough.  We  want  you  to 
pretend  that  you  believe  he  is  this  burglar 
you  came  over  after.  If  you  will  do  this,  and 
take  him  away  without  any  one  so  much  as 
suspecting  who  he  really  is,  and  on  the  train 
that  passes  here  at  1.20  for  New  York,  we 
will  give  you  $500  out  of  the  $5000  reward. 
If,  however,  one  other  paper,  either  in  New 
York  or  Philadelphia,  or  anywhere  else,  knows 
of  the  arrest,  you  won't  get  a  cent.  Now, 
what  do  you  say?" 

The  detective  had  a  great  deal  to  say.  He 
wasn't  at  all  sure  the  man  Gallegher  sus 
pected  was  Hade;  he  feared  he  might  get 
himself  into  trouble  by  making  a  false  arrest, 
and  if  it  should  be  the  man,  he  was  afraid  the 
local  police  would  interfere. 

"  We've  no  time  to  argue  or  debate  this 
matter,"  said  Dwyer,  warmly.  "  We  agree  to 
point  Hade  out  to  you  in  the  crowd.  After 
the  fight  is  over  you  arrest  him  as  we  have 
directed,  and  you  get  the  money  and  the 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  23 

credit  of  the  arrest.  If  you  don't  like  this, 
I  will  arrest  the  man  myself,  and  have  him 
driven  to  town,  with  a  pistol  for  a  warrant." 

Hefnefinger  considered  in  silence  and  then 
agreed  unconditionally.  "  As  you  say,  Mr. 
Dwyer,"  he  returned.  "  I've  heard  of  you 
for  a  thoroughbred  sport.  I  know  you'll  do 
what  you  say  you'll  do ;  and  as  for  me  I'll 
do  what  you  say  and  just  as  you  say,  and  it's 
a  very  pretty  piece  of  work  as  it  stands." 

They  all  stepped  back  into  the  cab,  and 
then  it  was  that  they  were  met  by  a  fresh 
difficulty,  how  to  get  the  detective  into  the 
barn  where  the  fight  was  to  take  place,  for 
neither  of  the  two  men  had  $250  to  pay  for 
his  admittance. 

But  this  was  overcome  when  Gallegher  re 
membered  the  window  of  which  young  Rep- 
pi  er  had  told  him. 

In  the  event  of  Hade's  losing  courage  and 
not  daring  to  show  himself  in  the  crowd 
around  the  ring,  it  was  agreed  that  Dwyer 
should  come  to  the  barn  and  warn  Heffle- 
finger;  but  if  he  should  come,  Dwyer  was 
merely  to  keep  near  him  and  to  signify  by  a 
prearranged  gesture  which  one  of  the  crowd 
he  was. 


24:  GALLEGHER: 

They  drew  up  before  a  great  black  shadow 
of  a  house,  dark,  forbidding,  and  apparently 
deserted.  But  at  the  sound  of  the  wheels 
on  the  gravel  the  door  opened,  letting  out  a 
stream  of  warm,  cheerful  light,  and  a  man's 
voice  said,  "Put  out  those  lights.  Don't 
you'se  know  no  better  than  that?"  This 
was  Keppler,  and  he  welcomed  Mr.  Dwyer 
with  effusive  courtesy. 

The  two  men  showed  in  the  stream  of 
light,  and  the  door  closed  on  them,  leaving 
the  house  as  it  was  at  first,  black  and  silent, 
save  for  the  dripping  of  the  rain  and  snow 
from  the  eaves. 

The  detective  and  Gallegher  put  out  the 
cab's  lamps  and  led  the  horse  toward  a  long, 
low  shed  in  the  rear  of  the  yard,  which  they 
now  noticed  was  almost  filled  with  teams  of 
many  different  makes,  from  the  Hobson's 
choice  of  a  livery  stable  to  the  brougham  of 
the  man  about  town. 

"No,"  said  Gallegher,  as  the  cabman 
stopped  to  hitch  the  horse  beside  the  others, 
"  we  want  it  nearest  that  lower  gate.  When 
we  newspaper  men  leave  this  place  we'll  leave 
it  in  a  hurry,  and  the  man  who  is  nearest 
town  is  likely  to  get  there  first.  You  won't 


A   NEWSPAPER   STORY.  25 

be  a-following  of  no  hearse  when  you  make 
your  return  trip." 

Gallegher  tied  the  horse  to  the  ve^  gate 
post  itself,  leaving  the  gate  open  and  allow 
ing  a  clear  road  and  a  flying  start  for  the 
prospective  race  to  Newspaper  Row. 

The  driver  disappeared  under  the  shelter 
of  the  porch,  and  Gallegher  and  the  detective 
moved  off  cautiously  to  the  rear  of  the  barn. 
"  This  must  be  the  window,"  said  Heffie- 
finger,  pointing  to  a  broad  wooden  shutter 
some  feet  from  the  ground. 

"Just  you  give  me  a  boost  once,  and  I'll 
get  that  open  in  a  jiffy,"  said  Gallegher. 

The  detective  placed  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  and  Gallegher  stood  upon  his  shoul 
ders,  and  with  the  blade  of  his  knife  lifted 
the  wooden  button  that  fastened  the  window 
on  the  inside,  and  pulled  the  shutter  open. 

Then  he  put  one  leg  inside  over  the  sill, 
and  leaning  down  helped  to  draw  his  fellow- 
conspirator  up  to  a  level  with  the  window. 
"  I  feel  just  like  I  was  burglarizing  a  house," 
chuckled  Gallegher,  as  he  dropped  noiselessly 
to  the  floor  below  and  refastened  the  shutter. 
The  barn  was  a  large  one,  with  a  row  of  stalls 
on  either  side  in  which  horses  and  cows  were 


26  GALLEGHER  : 

dozing.  There  was  a  hay-mow  over  each  row 
of  stalls,  and  at  one  end  of  the  barn  a  number 
of  fence-rails  had  been  thrown  across  from 
one  mow  to  the  other.  These  rails  were  cov 
ered  with  hay. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  the  ring. 
It  was  not  really  a  ring,  but  a  square,  with 
wooden  posts  at  its  four  corners  through 
which  ran  a  heavy  rope.  The  space  inclosed 
by  the  rope  was  covered  with  sawdust. 

Gallegher  could  not  resist  stepping  into 
the  ring,  and  after  stamping  the  sawdust  once 
or  twice,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he  was 
really  there,  began  dancing  around  it,  and 
indulging  in  such  a  remarkable  series  of  fis 
tic  manoeuvres  with  an  imaginary  adversary 
that  the  unimaginative  detective  precipitately 
backed  into  a  corner  of  the  barn. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Gallegher,  having  ap 
parently  vanquished  his  foe,  "you  come  with 
me."  His  companion  followed  quickly  as 
Gallegher  climbed  to  one  of  the  hay-mows, 
and  crawling  carefully  out  on  the  fence-rail, 
stretched  himself  at  full  length,  face  down 
ward.  In  this  position,  by  moving  the  straw 
a  little,  he  could  look  down,  without  being 
himself  seen,  upon  the  heads  of  whomsoever 


A  NEWSPAPER  STORY.  27 

stood  below.  "This  is  better'n  a  private  box, 
ain't  it?"  said  Gallegher. 

The  boy  from  the  newspaper  office  and  the 
detective  lay  there  in  silence,  biting  at  straws 
and  tossing  anxiously  on  their  comfortable 
bed. 

It  seemed  fully  two  hours  before  they  came. 
Gallegher  had  listened  without  breathing, 
and  with  every  muscle  on  a  strain,  at  least  a 
dozen  times,  when  some  movement  in  the 
yard  had  led  him  to  believe  that  they  were 
at  the  door. 

And  he  had  numerous  doubts  and  fears. 
Sometimes  it  was  that  the  police  had  learnt 
of  the  fight,  and  had  raided  Keppler's  in  his 
absence,  and  again  it  was  that  the  fight  had 
been  postponed,  or,  worst  of  all,  that  it  would 
be  put  off  until  so  late  that  Mr.  Dwyer  could 
not  get  back  in  time  for  the  last  edition  of 
the  paper.  Their  coming,  when  at  last  they 
came,  was  heralded  by  an  advance-guard  of 
two  sporting  men,  who  stationed  themselves 
at  either  side  of  the  big  door. 

"  Hurry  up,  now,  gents,"  one  of  the  men 
said  with  a  shiver,  "  don't  keep  this  door 
open  no  longer'n  is  needful." 

It  was  not  a  very  large  crowd,  but  it  was 


28  GALLEGHER : 

wonderfully  well  selected.  It  ran,  in  the 
majority  of  its  component  parts,  to  heavy 
white  coats  with  pearl  buttons.  The  white 
coats  were  shouldered  by  long  blue  coats 
with  astrakhan  fur  trimmings,  the  wearers  of 
which  preserved  a  cliqueness  not  remarkable 
when  one  considers  that  they  believed  every 
one  else  present  to  be  either  a  crook  or  a 
prize-fighter. 

There  were  well-fed,  well-groomed  club 
men  and  brokers  in  the  crowd,  a  politician 
or  two,  a  popular  comedian  with  his  manager, 
amateur  boxers  from  the  athletic  clubs,  and 
quiet,  close-mouthed  sporting  men  from  every 
city  in  the  country.  Their  names  if  printed 
in  the  papers  would  have  been  as  familiar  as 
the  types  of  the  papers  themselves. 

Arid  among  these  men,  whose  only  thought 
was  of  the  brutal  sport  to  come,  was  Hade, 
with  Dwyer  standing  at  ease  at  his  shoulder, 
—  Hade,  white,  and  visibly  in  deep  anxiety, 
hiding  his  pale  face  beneath  a  cloth  travelling- 
cap,  and  with  his  chin  muffled  in  a  woollen 
scarf.  He  had  dared  to  come  because  he 
feared  his  danger  from  the  already  suspicious 
Keppler  was  less  than  if  he  stayed  away. 
And  so  he  was  there,  hovering  restlessly  on 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  29 

the  border  of  the  crowd,  feeling  his  danger 
and  sick  with  fear. 

When  Hefflefinger  first  saw  him  he  started 
up  0:1  his  hands  and  elbows  and  made  a  move 
ment  forward  as  if  he  would  leap  down  then 
and  there  and  carry  off  his  prisoner  single- 
handed. 

uLie  down,"  growled  Gallegher;  "an  offi 
cer  of  any  sort  wouldn't  live  three  minutes 
in  that  crowd." 

The  detective  drew  back  slowly  and  buried 
himself  again  in  the  straw,  but  never  once 
through  the  long  fight  which  followed  did 
his  eyes  leave  the  person  of  the  murderer. 
The  newspaper  men  took  their  places  in 
the  foremost  row  close  around  the  ring, 
and  kept  looking  at  their  watches  and  beg 
ging  the  master  of  ceremonies  to  "shake  it 
up,  do." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  betting,  and  all 
of  the  men  handled  the  great  roll  of  bills  they 
wagered  with  a  flippant  recklessness  which 
could  only  be  accounted  for  in  Gallegher's 
mind  by  temporary  mental  derangement. 
Some  one  pulled  a  box  out  into  the  ring  and 
the  master  of  ceremonies  mounted  it,  and 
pointed  out  in  forcible  language  that  as  they 


30  GALLEGHEE: 

were  almost  all  already  under  bonds  to  keep 
the  peace,  it  behooved  all  to  curb  their  ex 
citement  and  to  maintain  a  severe  silence, 
unless  they  wanted  to  bring  the  police  upon 
them  and  have  themselves  "  sent  down  "  for 
a  year  or  two. 

Then  two  very  disreputable-looking  per 
sons  tossed  their  respective  principals'  high 
hats  into  the  ring,  and  the  crowd,  recogniz 
ing  in  this  relic  of  the  days  when  brave 
knights  threw  down  their  gauntlets  in  the 
lists  as  only  a  sign  that  the  fight  was  about 
to  begin,  cheered  tumultuously. 

This  was  followed  by  a  sudden  surging 
forward,  and  a  mutter  of  admiration  much 
more  flattering  than  the  cheers  had  been, 
when  the  principals  followed  their  hats,  and 
slipping  out  of  their  great-coats,  stood  forth 
in  all  the  physical  beauty  of  the  perfect 
brute. 

Their  pink  skin  was  as  soft  and  healthy 
looking  as  a  baby's,  and  glowed  in  the  lights 
of  the  lanterns  like  tinted  ivory,  and  under 
neath  this  silken  covering  the  great  biceps 
and  muscles  moved  in  and  out  and  looked 
like  the  coils  of  a  snake  around  the  branch 
of  a  tree. 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  M 

Gentleman  and  blackguard  shouldered  each 
other  for  a  nearer  view ;  the  coachmen,  whose 
metal  buttons  were  unpleasantly  suggestive 
of  police,  put  their  hands,  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  on  the  shoulders  of  their 
masters;  the  perspiration  stood  out  in  great 
drops  on  the  foreheads  of  the  backers,  and 
the  newspaper  men  bit  somewhat  nervously 
at  the  ends  of  their  pencils. 

And  in  the  stalls  the  cows  munched  con 
tentedly  at  their  cuds  and  gazed  with  gentle 
curiosity  at  their  two  fellow-brutes,  who  stood 
waiting  the  signal  to  fall  upon,  and  kill  each 
other  if  need  be,  for  the  delectation  of  their 
brothers. 

"  Take  your  places,"  commanded  the  mas 
ter  of  ceremonies. 

In  the  moment  in  which  the  two  men 
faced  each  other  the  crowd  became  so  still 
that,  save  for  the  beating  of  the  rain  upon 
the  shingled  roof  and  tie  stamping  of  a 
horse  in  one  of  the  stalls,  the  place  was  as 
silent  as  a  church. 

"Time,"  shouted  the  master  of  cere 
monies. 

The  two  men  sprang  into  a  posture  of 
defence,  which  was  lost  as  quickly  as  it  was 


32  GALLEGHEE : 

taken,  one  great  arm  shot  out  like  a  pis 
ton-rod;  there  was  the  sound  of  bare  fists 
beating  on  naked  flesh ;  there  was  an  exult 
ant  indrawn  gasp  of  savage  pleasure  and 
relief  from  the  crowd,  and  the  great  fight 
had  begun. 

How  the  fortunes  of  war  rose  and  fell,  and 
changed  and  rechanged  that  night,  is  an  old 
story  to  those  who  listen  to  such  stories ;  and 
those  who  do  not  will  be  glad  to  be  spared 
the  telling  of  it.  It  was,  they  say,  one  of  the 
bitterest  fights  between  two  men  that  this 
country  has  ever  known. 

But  all  that  is  of  interest  here  is  that  after 
an  hour  of  this  desperate  brutal  business  the 
champion  ceased  to  be  the  favorite ;  the  man 
whom  he  had  taunted  and  bullied,  and  for 
whom  the  public  had  but  little  sympathy,  was 
proving  himself  a  likely  winner,  and  undor 
his  cruel  blows,  as  sharp  and  clean  as  those 
from  a  cutlass,  his  opponent  was  rapidly  giv 
ing  way. 

The  men  about  the  ropes  were  past  all 
control  now ;  they  drowned  Keppler's  peti 
tions  for  silence  with  oaths  and  in  inarticulate 
shouts  of  anger,  as  if  the  blows  had  fallen 
upon  them,  and  in  mad  rejoicings.  They 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  33 

swept  from  one  end  of  the  ring  to  the  other, 
with  every  muscle  leaping  in  unison  with 
those  of  the  man  they  favored,  and  when  a 
New  York  correspondent  muttered  over  his 
shoulder  that  this  would  be  the  biggest  sport 
ing  surprise  since  the  Heenan-Sayers  fight, 
Mr.  Dvvyer  nodded  his  head  sympathetically 
in  assent. 

In  the  excitement  and  tumult  it  is  doubtful 
if  any  heard  the  three  quickly  repeated  blows 
that  fell  heavily  from  the  outside  upon  the 
big  doors  of  the  barn.  If  they  did,  it  was 
already  too  late  to  mend  matters,  for  the  door 
fell,  torn  from  its  hinges,  and  as  it  fell  a  cap 
tain  of  police  sprang  into  the  light  from  out 
of  the  storm,  with  his  lieutenants  and  their 
men  crowding  close  at  his  shoulder. 

In  the  panic  and  stampede  that  followed, 
several  of  the  men  stood  as  helplessly  im 
movable  as  though  they  had  seen  a  ghost; 
others  made  a  mad  rush  into  the  arms  of  the 
officers  and  were  beaten  back  against  the 
ropes  of  the  ring ;  others  dived  headlong  into 
the  stalls,  among  the  horses  and  cattle,  and 
still  others  shoved  the  rolls  of  money  they 
held  into  the  hands  of  the  police  and  bsgge  1 
like  children  to  be  allowed  to  escape. 


34  GALLEGUER  : 

The  instant  the  door  fell  and  the  raid  was 
declared  Hefflefinger  slipped  over  the  cross 
rails  on  which  he  had  been  lying,  hung  for 
an  instant  by  his  hands,  and  then  dropped 
into  the  centre  of  the  fighting  mob  on  the 
floor.  He  was  out  of  it  in  an  instant  with 
the  agility  of  a  pickpocket,  was  across  the 
:*oom  and  at  Hade's  throat  like  a  dog.  The 
mu-derer,  for  the  moment,  was  the  calmer 
man  of  the  two. 

"Here,"  he  panted,  "hands  off,  now. 
There's  no  need  for  all  this  violence. 
There's  no  great  harm  in  looking  at  a  fight, 
is  there?  There's  a  hundred-dollar  bill  in 
my  right  hand ;  take  it  and  let  me  slip  out  of 
this.  No  one  is  looking.  Here." 

But  the  detective  only  held  him  the  closer. 

"  I  want  you  for  burglary,"  he  whispered 
under  his  breath.  "  You've  got  to  come  with 
me  now,  and  quick.  The  less  fuss  you  make, 
the  better  for  both  of  us.  If  you  don't  know 
who  I  am,  you  can  feel  my  badge  under 
my  coat  there.  I've  got  the  authority.  It's 
all  regular,  and  when  we're  out  of  this  d — d 
row  I'll  show  you  the  papers." 

He  took  one  hand  from  Hade's  throat  and 
pulled  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket. 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  35 

"It's  a  mistake.  This  is  an  outrage," 
gasped  the  murderer,  white  and  trembling, 
but  dreadfully  alive  and  desperate  for  his 
liberty.  "  Let  me  go,  I  tell  you  !  Take  your 
hands  off  of  me !  Do  I  look  like  a  burglar, 
you  fool  ?  " 

"  I  know  who  you  look  like,"  whispered  the 
detective,  with  his  face  close  to  the  face  of 
his  prisoner.  "  Now,  will  you  go  easy  as  a 
burglar,  or  shall  I  tell  these  men  who  you  are 
and  what  I  do  want  you  for?  Shall  I  call 
out  your  real  name  or  not?  Shall  I  tell 
them  ?  Quick,  speak  up ;  shall  I  ?  " 

There  was  something  so  exultant  —  some 
thing  so  unnecessarily  savage  in  the  officer's 
face  that  the  man  he  held  saw  that  the  detec 
tive  knew  him  for  what  he  really  was,  and  the 
hands  that  had  held  his  throat  slipped  down 
around  his  shoulders,  or  he  would  have  fallen. 
The  man's  eyes  opened  and  closed  again,  and 
he  swayed  weakly  backward  and  forward,  and 
choked  as  if  his  throat  were  dry  and  burning. 
Even  to  such  a  hardened  connoisseur  in  crime 
as  Gallegher,  who  stood  closely  by,  drinking 
it  in,  there  was  something  so  abject  in  the 
man's  terror  that  he  regarded  him  with  what 
was  almost  a  touch  of  pity. 


36  GALLEGHEE : 

"For  God's  sake,"  Hade  begged,  "let  me 
go.  Come  with  me  to  my  room  and  I'll  give 
you  half  the  money.  I'll  divide  with  you 
fairly.  We  can  both  get  away.  There's  a 
fortune  for  both  of  us  there.  We  both  can 
get  away.  You'll  be  rich  for  life.  Do  you 
understand  —  for  life  !  " 

But  the  detective,  to  his  credit,  only  shut 
his  lips  the  tighter. 

"  That's  enough,"  he  whispered,  in  return. 
"  That's  more  than  I  expected.  You've  sen 
tenced  yourself  already.  Come  !  " 

Two  officers  in  uniform  barred  their  exit  at 
the  door,  but  Hefflefmger  smiled  easily  and 
showed  his  badge. 

"  One  of  Byrnes's  men,"  he  said,  in  expla 
nation  ;  "came  over  expressly  to  take  this  chap. 
He's  a  burglar;  '  Arlie'  Lane,  alias  Carleton. 
I've  shown  the  papers  to  the  captain.  It's 
all  regular.  I'm  just  going  to  get  his  traps 
at  the  hotel  and  walk  him  over  to  the  station. 
I  guess  we'll  push  right  on  to  New  York  to 
night." 

The  officers  nodded  and  smiled  their  admi 
ration  for  the  representative  of  what  is,  per 
haps,  the  best  detective  force  in  the  world, 
and  let  him  pass. 


A    NEWSPAPER    STORY.  37 

Then  Hefflefinger  turned  and  spoke  to  Gal- 
legher,  who  still  stood  as  watchful  as  a  dog 
at  his  side.  "  I'm  going  to  his  room  to  get 
the  bonds  and  stuff,"  he  whispered ;  "  then 
I'll  march  him  to  the  station  and  take  that 
train.  I've  done  my  share ;  don't  forget 
yours ! " 

"  Oh,  you'll  get  your  money  right  enough," 
said  Gallegher.  "  And,  sa-ay,"  he  added,  with 
the  appreciative  nod  of  an  expert,  "do  you 
know,  you  did  it  rather  well." 

Mr.  Dwyer  had  been  writing  while  the  raid 
was  settling  down,  as  he  had  been  writing 
while  waiting  for  the  fight  to  begin.  Now 
he  walked  over  to  where  the  other  correspond 
ents  stood  in  angry  conclave. 

The  newspaper  men  had  informed  the  offi 
cers  who  hemmed  them  in  that  they  repre 
sented  the  principal  papers  of  the  country, 
and  were  expostulating  vigorously  with  the 
captain,  who  had  planned  the  raid,  and  who 
declared  they  were  under  arrest. 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Scott,"  said  Mr.  Dwyer, 
who  was  too  excited  to  be  polite  or  politic. 
"  You  know  our  being  here  isn't  a  matter  of 
choice.  We  came  here  on  business,  as  you 
did,  and  you've  no  right  to  hold  us." 


38  GALLEGHER  : 

"  If  we  don't  get  our  stuff  on  the  wire  at 
once,"  protested  a  New  York  man,  "  we'll  be 
too  late  for  to-morrow's  paper,  and " 

Captain  Scott  said  he  did  not  care  a  pro 
fanely  small  amount  for  to-morrow's  paper, 
and  that  all  he  knew  was  that  to  the  station- 
house  the  newspaper  men  would  go.  There 
they  would  have  a  hearing,  and  if  the  magis 
trate  chose  to  let  them  off,  that  was  the  magis 
trate's  business,  but  that  his  duty  was  to  take 
them  into  custody. 

"  But  then  it  will  be  too  late,  don't  you 
understand?  "  shouted  Mr.  Dwyer.  "  You've 
got  to  let  us  go  now,  at  once." 

"I  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Dwyer,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  "and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Why, 
haven't  I  just  sent  the  president  of  the  Junior 
Republican  Club  to  the  patrol  wagon,  the  man 
that  put  this  coat  on  me,  and  do  you  think  I 
can  let  you  fellows  go  after  that  ?  You  were 
all  put  under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace  not 
three  days  ago,  and  here  you're  at  it  — . 
fighting  like  badgers.  It's  worth  my  place 
to  let  one  of  you  off." 

What  Mr.  Dwyer  said  next  was  so  uncom* 
plimentary  to  the  gallant  Captain  Scott  that 
that  overwrought  individual  seized  the  sport- 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  39 

ing  editor  by  the  shoulder,  and  shoved  him 
into  the  hands  of  two  of  his  men. 

This  was  more  than  the  distinguished  Mr. 
Dwyer  could  brook,  and  he  excitedly  raised 
his  hand  in  resistance.  But  before  he  had 
time  to  do  anything  foolish  his  wrist  was 
gripped  by  one  strong,  little  hand,  and  he 
was  conscious  that  another  was  picking  the 
pocket  of  his  great-coat. 

He  slapped  his  hands  to  his  sides,  and 
looking  down,  saw  Gallegher  standing  close 
behind  him  and  holding  him  by  the  wrist. 
Mr.  Dwyer  had  forgotten  the  boy's  existence, 
and  would  have  spoken  sharply  if  something 
in  Gallegher's  innocent  eyes  had  not  stopped 
him. 

Gallegher's  hand  was  still  in  that  pocket, 
in  which  Mr.  Dwyer  had  shoved  his  note-book 
filled  with  what  he  had  written  of  Gallegher's 
wrork  and  Hade's  final  capture,  and  with  a 
running  descriptive  account  of  the  fight. 
With  his  eyes  fixed  on  Mr.  Dwyer,  Gallegher 
.drew  it  out,  and  with  a  quick  movement 
shoved  it  inside  his  waistcoat.  Mr.  Dwyer 
gave  a  nod  of  comprehension.  Then  glanc 
ing  at  his  two  guardsmen,  and  finding  that 
they  were  still  interested  in  the  wordy  battle 


40  GALLEGBER : 

of  the  correspondents  with  their  chief,  and 
had  seen  nothing,  he  stooped  and  whispered 
to  Gallegher :  "  The  forms  are  locked  at 
twenty  minutes  to  three.  If  you  don't  get 
there  by  that  time  it  will  be  of  no  use,  but  if 
you're  on  time  you'll  beat  the  town — and 
the  country  too." 

Gallegher's  eyes  flashed  significantly,  and 
nodding  his  head  to  show  he  understood, 
started  boldly  on  a  run  toward  the  door.  But 
the  officers  who  guarded  it  brought  him  to  an 
abrupt  halt,  and,  much  to  Mr.  Dwyer's  aston 
ishment,  drew  from  him  what  was  apparently 
a  torrent  of  tears. 

"Let  me  go  to  me  father.  I  w^ant  me 
father,"  the  boy  shrieked,  hysterically. 
"  They've  'rested  father.  Oh,  daddy,  daddy. 
They're  a-goin'  to  take  you  to  prison." 

"Who  is  your  father,  sonny?"  asked  one 
of  the  guardians  of  the  gate. 

"  Keppler's  me  father,"  sobbed  Gallegher. 
"  They're  a-goin'  to  lock  him  up,  and  I'll  never 
see  him  no  more." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  said  the  officer,  good- 
naturedly;  "he's  there  in  that  first  patrol 
wagon.  You  can  run  over  and  say  good 
night  to  him,  and  then  you'd  better  get  to 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  41 

bed.  This  ain't  no  place  for  kids  of  your 
age." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  sniffed  Gaiiegher,  tear 
fully,  as  the  two  officers  raised  their  clubs, 
and  let  him  pass  out  into  the  darkness. 

The  yard  outside  was  in  a  tumult,  horses 
were  stamping,  and  plunging,  and  backing 
the  carriages  into  one  another ;  lights  were 
flashing  from  every  window  of  what  had  been 
apparently  an  uninhabited  house,  and  the 
voices  of  the  prisoners  were  still  raised  in 
angry  expostulation. 

Three  police  patrol  wagons  were  moving 
about  the  yard,  filled  with  unwilling  passen 
gers,  who  sat  or  stood,  packed  together  like 
sheep,  and  with  no  protection  from  the  sleet 
and  rain. 

Gaiiegher  stole  off  into  a  dark  corner,  and 
watched  the  scene  until  his  eyesight  became 
familiar  with  the  position  of  the  land. 

Then  with  his  eyes  fixed  fearfully  on  the 
swinging  light  of  a  lantern  with  which  an 
officer  was  searching  among  the  carriages,  he 
groped  his  way  between  horses'  hoofs  and 
behind  the  wheels  of  carriages  to  the  cab 
which  he  had  himself  placed  at  the  further 
most  gate.  It  was  still  there,  and  the  horse, 


42  GALLEGHER : 

as  he  had  left  it,  with  its  head  turned  toward 
the  city.  Gallegher  opened  the  big  gate 
noiselessly,  and  worked  nervously  at  the 
hitching  strap.  The  knot  was  covered  with 
a  thin  coating  of  ice,  and  it  was  several  min 
utes  before  he  could  loosen  it.  But  his  teeth 
finally  pulled  it  apart,  and  with  the  reins  in 
his  hands  he  sprang  upon  the  wheel.  And 
as  he  stood  so,  a  shock  of  fear  ran  down  his 
back  like  an  electric  current,  his  breath  left 
him,  and  he  stood  immovable,  gazing  with 
wide  eyes  into  the  darkness. 

The  officer  with  the  lantern  had  suddenly 
loomed  up  from  behind  a  carriage  not  fifty 
feet  distant,  and  was  standing  perfectly  still, 
with  his  lantern  held  over  his  head,  peering 
so  directly  toward  Gallegher  that  the  boy 
felt  that  he  must  see  him.  Gallegher  stood 
with  one  foot  on  the  hub  of  the  wheel  and 
with  the  other  on  the  box  waiting  to  spring. 
It  seemed  a  minute  before  either  of  them 
moved,  and  then  the  officer  took  a  step  for 
ward,  and  demanded  sternly,  "  Who  is  that  ? 
What  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

There  was  no  time  for  parley  then.  Gal 
legher  felt  that  he  had  been  taken  in  the  act, 
and  that  his  only  chance  lay  in  open  flight. 


A   NEWSPAPER   STORY.  43 

He  leaped  up  on  the  box,  pulling  out  the 
whip  as  he  did  so,  and  with  a  quick  sweep 
lashed  the  horse  across  the  head  and  back. 
The  animal  sprang  forward  with  a  snort,  nar 
rowly  clearing  the  gate  post,  and  plunged  off 
into  the  darkness. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  officer. 

So  many  of  Gallegher's  acquaintances 
among  the  'longshoremen  and  mill  hands  had 
been  challenged  in  so  much  the  same  manner 
that  Gallegher  knew  what  would  probably 
follow  if  the  challenge  was  disregarded.  So 
he  slipped  from  his  seat  to  the  footboard 
below,  and  ducked  his  head. 

The  three  reports  of  a  pistol,  which  rang 
out  briskly  from  behind  him,  proved  that  his 
early  training  had  given  him  a  valuable  fund 
of  useful  miscellaneous  knowledge. 

"Don't  you  be  scared,"  he  said,  reassur 
ingly,  to  the  horse ;  "  he's  firing  in  the  air." 

The  pistol-shots  were  answered  by  the  im 
patient  clangor  of  a  patrol  wagon's  gong, 
and  glancing  over  his  shoulder  Gallegher  saw 
its  red  and  green  lanterns  tossing  from  side 
to  side  and  looking  in  the  darkness  like  the 
side-lights  of  a  yacht  plunging  forward  in  a 
storm. 


44  GALLEGHEE : 

"  I  hadn't  bargained  to  race  you  against  no 
patrol  wagons,"  said  Gallegher  to  his  animal ; 
"  but  if  they  want  a  race,  we'll  give  them  a 
tough  tussle  for  it,  won't  we  ?  " 

Philadelphia,  lying  four  miles  to  the  south, 
sent  up  a  faint  yellow  glow  to  the  sky.  It 
seemed  very  far  away,  and  Gallegher's  brag 
gadocio  grew  cold  within  him  at  the  loneli 
ness  of  his  adventure  and  the  thought  of  the 
long  ride  before  him. 

It  was  still  bitterly  cold. 

The  rain  and  sleet  beat  through  his  clothes, 
and  struck  his  skin  with  a  sharp  chilling 
touch  that  set  him  trembling. 

Even  the  thought  of  the  over-weighted 
patrol  wagon  probably  sticking  in  the  mud 
some  safe  distance  in  the  rear,  failed  to  cheer 
him,  and  the  excitement  that  had  so  far  made 
him  callous  to  the  cold  died  out  and  left  him 
weaker  and  nervous. 

But  his  horse  was  chilled  with  the  long 
standing,  and  now  leaped  eagerly  forward, 
only  too  willing  to  warm  the  half-frozen  blood 
in  its  veins. 

"You're  a  good  beast,"  said  Gallegher, 
plaintively.  "You've  got  more  nerve  than 
me.  Don't  you  go  back  on  me  now.  Mr. 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  45 

Dwyer  says  we've  got  to  beat  the  town." 
Gallegher  had  no  idea  what  time  it  was  as 
he  rode  through  the  night,  but  he  knew  he 
would  be  able  to  find  out  from  a  big  clock 
over  a  manufactory  at  a  point  nearly  three 
quarters  of  the  distance  from  Keppler's  to  the 
goal. 

He  was  still  in  the  open  country  and  driv 
ing  recklessly,  for  he  knew  the  best  part  of 
his  ride  must  be  made  outside  the  city  limits. 

He  raced  between  desolate-looking  corn 
fields  with  bare  stalks  and  patches  of  muddy 
earth  rising  above  the  thin  covering  of  snow, 
truck  farms  and  brick-yards  fell  behind  him 
on  either  side.  It  was  very  lonely  work,  and 
once  or  twice  the  dogs  ran  yelping  to  the 
gates  and  barked  after  him. 

Part  of  his  way  lay  parallel  with  the  rail 
road  tracks,  and  he  drove  for  some  time  be 
side  long  lines  of  freight  and  coal  cars  as  they 
stood  resting  for  the  night.  The  fantastic 
Queen  Anne  suburban  stations  were  dark 
and  deserted,  but  in  one  or  two  of  the  block- 
towers  he  could  see  the  operators  writing  at 
their  desks,  and  the  sight  in  some  way  com 
forted  him. 

Once  he  thought  of  stopping  to  get  out 


46  GALLEGHEE  : 

the  blanket  in  which  he  had  wrapped  himself 
on  the  first  trip,  but  he  feared  to  spare  the 
time,  and  drove  on  with  his  teeth  chattering 
and  his  shoulders  shaking  with  the  cold. 

He  welcomed  the  first  solitary  row  of  dark 
ened  houses  with  a  faint  cheer  of  recognition. 
The  scattered  lamp-posts  lightened  his  spirits, 
and  even  the  badly  paved  streets  rang  under 
the  beats  of  his  horse's  feet  like  music.  Great 
mills  and  manufactories,  with  only  a  night- 
watchman's  light  in  the  lowest  of  their  many 
stories,  began  to  take  the  place  of  the  gloomy 
farm-houses  and  gaunt  trees  that  had  startled 
him  with  their  grotesque  shapes.  He  had  been 
driving  nearly  an  hour,  he  calculated,  and  in 
that  time  the  rain  had  changed  to  a  wet  snow, 
that  fell  heavily  and  clung  to  whatever  it 
touched.  He  passed  block  after  block  of  trim 
workmen's  houses,  as  still  and  silent  as  the 
sleepers  within  them,  and  at  last  he  turned 
the  horse's  head  into  Broad  Street,  the  city's 
great  thoroughfare,  that  stretches  from  its  one 
end  to  the  other  and  cuts  it  evenly  in  two. 

He  was  driving  noiselessly  over  the  snow 
and  slush  in  tne  street,  with  his  thoughts  bent 
only  on  the  clock-face  he  wished  so  much  to 
see,  when  a  hoarse  voice  challenged  him  from 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  47 

the  sidewalk.  "  Hey,  you,  stop  there,  hold 
up !  "  said  the  voice. 

Gallegher  turned  his  head,  and  though  he 
saw  that  the  voice  came  from  under  a  police 
man's  helmet,  his  only  answer  was  to  hit  his 
horse  sharply  over  the  head  with  his  whip 
and  to  urge  it  into  a  gallop. 

This,  on  his  part,  was  followed  by  a  sharp, 
shrill  whistle  from  the  policeman.  Another 
whistle  answered  it  from  a  street-corner  one 
block  ahead  of  him.  "Whoa,"  said  Galle 
gher,  pulling  on  the  reins.  "  There's  one  too 
many  of  them,"  he  added,  in  apologetic  ex 
planation.  The  horse  stopped,  and  stood, 
breathing  heavily,  with  great  clouds  of  steam 
rising  from  its  flanks. 

"  Why  in  hell  didn't  you  stop  when  I  told 
you  to  ?  "  demanded  the  voice,  now  close  at 
the  cab's  side. 

"I  didn't  hear  you,"  returned  Gallegher, 
sweetly.  "But  I  heard  you  whistle,  and  I 
heard  your  partner  whistle,  and  I  thought 
maybe  it  was  me  you  wanted  to  speak  to,  so 
I  just  stopped." 

"  You  heard  me  well  enough.  Why  aren't 
your  lights  lit  ?  "  demanded  the  voice. 

"  Should  I  have  'em  lit  ?  "  asked  Gallegher, 


48  GALLEGHEE : 

bending  over  and  regarding  them  with  sud 
den  interest. 

"  You  know  you  should,  and  if  you  don't, 
you've  no  right  to  be  driving  that  cab.  I 
don't  believe  you're  the  regular  driver,  any 
way.  Where'd  you  get  it  ?  " 

"It  ain't  my  cab,  of  course,"  said  Galle- 
gher,  with  an  easy  laugh.  "  It's  Luke  Mc- 
Govern's.  He  left  it  outside  Cronin's  while 
he  went  in  to  get  a  drink,  and  he  took  too 
much,  and  me  father  told  me  to  drive  it  round 
to  the  stable  for  him.  I'm  Cronin's  son.  Mc- 
Govern  ain't  in  no  condition  to  drive.  You 
can  see  yourself  how  he's  been  misusing  the 
horse.  He  puts  it  up  at  Bachman's  livery 
stable,  and  I  was  just  going  around  there 
now." 

Gallegher's  knowledge  of  the  local  celebri 
ties  of  the  district  confused  the  zealous  officer 
of  the  peace.  He  surveyed  the  boy  with  a 
steady  stare  that  would  have  distressed  a  less 
skilful  liar,  but  Gallegher  only  shrugged  his 
shoulders  slightly,  as  if  from  the  cold,  and 
waited  with  apparent  indifference  to  what  the 
officer  would  say  next. 

In  reality  his  heart  was  beating  heavily 
against  his  side,  and  he  felt  that  if  he  was 


A   NEWSPAPER   STORY.  49 

kept  on  a  strain  much  longer  he  would  give 
way  and  break  down.  A  second  snow-cov 
ered  form  emerged  suddenly  from  the  shadow 
of  the  houses. 

"  What  is  it,  Reeder  ?  "  it  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  replied  the  first  offi 
cer.  "  This  kid  hadn't  any  lamps  lit,  so  I 
called  to  him  to  stop  and  he  didn't  do  it,  so 
I  whistled  to  you.  It's  all  right,  though. 
He's  just  taking  it  round  to  Bachman's.  Go 
ahead,"  he  added,  sulkily. 

"Get  up!"  chirped  Gallegher.  "Good 
night,"  he  added,  over  his  shoulder. 

Gallegher  gave  an  hysterical  little  gasp  of 
relief  as  he  trotted  away  from  the  two  police 
men,  and  poured  bitter  maledictions  on  their 
heads  for  two  meddling  fools  as  he  went. 

"  They  might  as  well  kill  a  man  as  scare 
him  to  death,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  to  get 
back  to  his  customary  flippancy.  But  the  ef 
fort  was  somewhat  pitiful,  and  he  felt  guiltily 
conscious  that  a  salt- warm  tear  was  creeping 
slowly  down  his  face,  and  that  a  lump  that 
would  not  keep  down  was  rising  in  his  throat. 

"  'Tain't  no  fair  thing  for  the  whole  police 
force  to  keep  worrying  at  a  little  boy  like 
me,"  he  said,  in  shame-faced  apology.  "  I'm 


50  GALLEGIIER : 

not  doing  nothing  wrong,  and  I'm  half  froze 
to  death,  and  yet  they  keep  a-nagging  at  me." 

It  was  so  cold  that  when  the  boy  stamped 
his  feet  against  the  foot-board  to  keep  them 
warm,  sharp  pains  shot  up  through  his  body, 
and  when  he  beat  his  arms  about  his  shoul 
ders,  as  he  had  seen  real  cabmen  do,  the  blood 
in  his  finger-tips  tingled  so  acutely  that  he 
cried  aloud  with  the  pain. 

He  had  often  been  up  that  late  before,  but 
he  had  never  felt  so  sleepy.  It  was  as  if 
some  one  was  pressing  a  sponge  heavy  with 
chloroform  near  his  face,  and  he  could  not 
fight  off  the  drowsiness  that  lay  hold  of  him. 

He  saw,  dimly  hanging  above  his  head,  a 
round  disc  of  light  that  seemed  like  a  great 
moon,  and  which  he  finally  guessed  to  be  the 
clock  face  for  which  he  had  been  on  the  look 
out.  He  had  passed  it  before  he  realized 
this ;  but  the  fact  stirred  him  into  wakeful- 
ness  again,  and  when  his  cab's  wheels  slipped 
around  the  City  Hall  corner,  he  remembered 
to  look  up  at  the  other  big  clock  face  that 
keeps  awake  over  the  railroad  station  and 
measures  out  the  night. 

He  gave  a  gasp  of  consternation  when  he 
saw  that  it  was  half-past  two,  and  that  there 


A  NEWSPAPER  STOEY.  51 

was  but  ten  minutes  left  to  him.  This,  and 
the  many  electric  lights  and  the  sight  of  the 
familiar  pile  of  buildings,  startled  him  into  a 
semi-consciousness  of  where  he  was  and  how 
great  was  the  necessity  for  haste. 

He  rose  in  his  seat  and  called  on  the  horse, 
and  urged  it  into  a  reckless  gallop  over  the 
slippery  asphalt.  He  considered  nothing  else 
but  speed,  and  looking  neither  to  the  left  nor 
right  dashed  off  down  Broad  Street  into 
Chestnut,  where  his  course  lay  straight  away 
to  the  office,  now  only  seven  blocks  distant. 

Gallegher  never  knew  how  it  began,  but 
he  was  suddenly  assaulted  by  shouts  on 
either  side,  his  horse  was  thrown  back  on 
its  haunches,  and  he  found  two  men  in  cab 
men's  livery  hanging  at  its  head,  and  pat 
ting  its  sides,  and  calling  it  by  name.  And 
the  other  cabmen  who  have  their  stand  at 
the  corner  were  swarming  about  the  carriage, 
all  of  them  talking  and  swearing  at  once,  and 
gesticulating  wildly  with  their  whips. 

They  said  they  knew  the  cab  was  McGov- 
ern's,  and  they  wanted  to  know  where  he 
was,  and  why  he  wasn't  on  it ;  they  wanted 
to  know  where  Gallegher  had  stolen  it,  and 
why  he  had  been  such  a  fool  as  to  drive  it 


52  GALLEGHER : 

into  the  arms  of  its  owner's  friends; 
said  that  it  was  about  time  that  a  cab-driver 
could  get  off  his  box  to  take  a  drink  without 
having  his  cab  run  away  with,  and  some  of 
them  called  loudly  for  a  policeman  to  take 
the  young  thief  in  charge. 

Gallegher  felt  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly 
dragged  into  consciousness  out  of  a  bad 
dream,  and  stood  for  a  second  like  a  half- 
awakened  somnambulist. 

They  had  stopped  the  cab  under  an  electric 
light,  and  its  glare  shone  coldly  down  upon 
the  trampled  snow  and  the  faces  of  the  men 
around  him. 

Gallegher  bent  forward,  and  lashed  sav 
agely  at  the  horse  with  his  whip. 

"Let  me  go,"  he  shouted,  as  he  tugged 
impotently  at  the  reins.  "  Let  me  go,  I  tell 
you.  I  haven't  stole  no  cab,  and  you've  got 
no  right  to  stop  me.  I  only  want  to  take  it 
to  the  Press  office,"  he  begged.  "They'll 
send  it  back  to  you  all  right.  They'll  pay 
you  for  the  trip.  I'm  not  running  away  with 
it.  The  driver's  got  the  collar  —  he's  'rested 
—  and  I'm  only  a-going  to  the  Press  office. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  "  he  cried,  his  voice  rising 
and  breaking  in  a  shriek  of  passion  and  dis- 


A  NEWSPAPER  STOfiY.  53 

appointment.  "I  tell  you  to  let  go  those 
reins.  Let  me  go,  or  I'll  kill  you.  Do  you 
hear  me  ?  I'll  kill  you."  And  leaning  for 
ward,  the  boy  struck  savagely  with  his  long 
whip  at  the  faces  of  the  men  about  the  horse's 
head. 

Some  one  in  the  crowd  reached  up  and 
caught  him  by  the  ankles,  and  with  a  quick 
jerk  pulled  him  off  the  box,  and  threw  him 
on  to  the  street.  But  he  was  up  on  his  knees 
in  a  moment,  and  caught  at  the  man's  hand. 

"  Don't  let  them  stop  me,  mister,"  he  cried, 
"  please  let  me  go.  I  didn't  steal  the  cab, 
sir.  S'help  me,  I  didn't.  I'm  telling  you  the 
truth.  Take  me  to  the  Press  office,  and  they'll 
prove  it  to  you.  They'll  pay  you  anything 
you  ask  'em.  It's  only  such  a  little  ways 
now,  and  I've  come  so  far,  sir.  Please  don't 
let  them  stop  me,"  he  sobbed,  clasping  the 
man  about  the  knees.  "  For  Heaven's  sake, 
mister,  let  me  go  !  " 

******* 

The  managing  editor  of  the  Press  took  up 
the  india-rubber  speaking-tube  at  his  side, 
and  answered,  "Not  yet"  to  an  inquiry  the 
night  editor  had  already  put  to  him  five  times 
within  the  latt  twenty  minutes. 


54  GALLEGUER : 

Then  lie  snapped  the  metal  top  of  the  tube 
impatiently,  and  went  up-stairs.  As  he  passed 
the  door  of  the  local  room,  he  noticed  that 
the  reporters  had  not  gone  home,  but  were 
sitting  about  on  the  tables  and  chairs,  wait 
ing.  They  looked  up  inquiringly  as  he  passed, 
and  the  city  editor  asked,  "  Any  news  yet?" 
and  the  managing  editor  shook  his  head. 

The  compositors  were  standing  idle  in  the 
composing-room,  and  their  foreman  was  talk 
ing  with  the  night  editor. 

"  Well,"  said  that  gentleman,  tentatively. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  managing  editor,  "  I 
don't  think  we  can  wait ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  It's  a  half-hour  after  time  now,"  said  the 
night  editor,  "and  we'll  miss  the  suburban 
trains  if  we  hold  the  paper  back  any  longer. 
We  can't  afford  to  wait  for  a  purely  hypo 
thetical  story.  The  chances  are  all  against 
the  fight's  having  taken  place  or  this  Hade's 
having  been  arrested." 

"  But  if  we're  beaten  on  it "  suggested 

the  chief.  "  But  I  don't  think  that  is  possi 
ble.  If  there  were  any  story  to  print,  Dwyer 
would  have  had  it  here  before  now." 

The  managing  editor  looked  steadily  down 
at  the  floor. 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  55 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "we  won't 
wait  any  longer.  "  Go  ahead,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  foreman  with  a  sigh  of  reluc 
tance.  The  foreman  whirled  himself  about, 
and  began  to  give  his  orders;  but  the  two 
editors  still  looked  at  each  other  doubtfully. 

As  they  stood  so,  there  came  a  sudden 
shout  and  the  sound  of  people  running  to  and 
fro  in  the  reportorial  rooms  below.  There 
was  the  tramp  of  many  footsteps  on  the  stairs, 
and  above  the  confusion  they  heard  the  voice 
of  the  city  editor  telling  some  one  to  "run 
to  Madden's  and  get  some  brandy,  quick." 

No  one  in  the  composing-room  said  any 
thing  ;  but  those  compositors  who  had  started 
to  go  home  began  slipping  off  their  overcoats, 
and  every  one  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  door. 

It  was  kicked  open  from  the  outside,  and 
in  the  doorway  stood  a  cab-driver  and  the 
city  editor,  supporting  between  them  a  piti 
ful  little  figure  of  a  boy,  wet  and  miserable, 
and  with  the  snow  melting  on  his  clothes  and 
running  in  little  pools  to  the  floor.  "  Why, 
it's  Gallegher,"  said  the  night  editor,  in  a 
tone  of  the  keenest  disappointment. 

Gallegher  shook  himself  free  from  his  sup- 


56  GALLEGHER : 

porters,  and  took  an  unsteady  step  forward, 
his  fingers  fumbling  stiffly  with  the  buttons 
of  his  waistcoat. 

"  Mr.  Dwyer,  sir,"  he  began  faintly,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  fearfully  on  the  managing  edi 
tor,  "he  got  arrested  —  and  I  couldn't  get 
here  no  sooner,  'cause  they  kept  a-stopping 
me,  and  they  took  me  cab  from  under  me  — 
but  — "  he  pulled  the  notebook  from  his 
breast  and  held  it  out  with  its  covers  damp 
and  limp  from  the  rain,  "  but  we  got  Hade, 
and  here's  Mr.  Dwyer's  copy." 

And  then  he  asked,  with  a  queer  note  in 
his  voice,  partly  of  dread  and  partly  of  hope, 
"  Am  I  in  time,  sir  ?  " 

The  managing  editor  took  the  book,  and 
tossed  it  to  the  foreman,  who  ripped  out  its 
leaves  and  dealt  them  out  to  his  men  as 
rapidly  as  a  gambler  deals  out  cards. 

Then  the  managing  editor  stooped  and  picked 
Gallegher  up  in  his  arms,  and,  sitting  down, 
began  to  unlace  his  wet  and  muddy  shoes. 

Gallegher  made  a  faint  effort  to  resist  this 
degradation  of  the  managerial  dignity;  but 
his  protest  was  a  very  feeble  one,  and  his 
head  fell  back  heavily  on  the  managing  edi 
tor's  shoulder. 


A  NEWSPAPER   STORY.  57 

To  Gallagher  the  incandescent  lights  began 
to  whirl  about  in  circles,  and  to  burn  in  dif 
ferent  colors  ;  the  faces  of  the  reporters  kneel 
ing  before  him  and  chafing  his  hands  and  feet 
grew  dim  and  unfamiliar,  and  the  roar  and 
rumble  of  the  great  presses  in  the  basement 
sounded  far  away,  like  the  murmur  of  the 
sea. 

And  then  the  place  and  the  circumstances 
of  it  came  back  to  him  again  sharply  and 
with  sudden  vividness. 

Gallegher  looked  up,  with  a  faint  smile, 
into  the  managing  editor's  face.  "  You  won't 
turn  me  off  for  running  away,  will  you?  "  he 
whispered. 

The  managing  editor  did  not  answer  im 
mediately.  His  head  was  bent,  and  he  was 
thinking,  for  some  reason  or  other,  of  a  little 
boy  of  his  own,  at  home  in  bed.  Then  he 
said,  quietly,  "  Not  this  time,  Gallegher." 

Gallegher's  head  sank  back  comfortably  on 
the  older  man's  shoulder,  and  he  smiled  com 
prehensively  at  the  faces  of  the  young  men 
crowded  around  him.  "  You  hadn't  ought 
to,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  impu 
dence,  "'cause — I  beat  the  town." 


A   WALK   UP  THE  AVENUE. 


HE  came  down  the  steps  slowly,  and  pull 
ing  mechanically  at  his  gloves. 

He  remembered  afterwards  that  some 
woman's  face  had  nodded  brightly  to  him 
from  a  passing  brougham,  and  that  he  had 
lifted  his  hat  through  force  of  habit,  and 
without  knowing  who  she  was. 

He  stopped  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  uncertainly,  and  then 
turned  toward  the  north,  not  because  he  had 
any  definite  goal  in  his  mind,  but  because  the 
other  way  led  toward  his  rooms,  and  he  did 
not  want  to  go  there  yet. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  strange  feeling  of 
elation,  which  he  attributed  to  his  being  free, 
and  to  the  fact  that  he  was  his  own  master 
again  in  everything.  And  with  this  he  con 
fessed  to  a  distinct  feeling  of  littleness,  of 
having  acted  meanly  or  unworthily  of  himself 
or  of  her. 
58 


A    WALK   UP   THE  AVEXUE.  59 

And  yet  he  had  behaved  well,  even  quix 
otically.  He  had  tried  to  leave  the  impres 
sion  with  her  that  it  was  her  wish,  and  that 
she  had  broken  with  him,  not  he  with  her. 

He  held  a  man  who  threw  a  girl  over 
as  something  contemptible,  and  he  certainly 
did  not  want  to  appear  to  himself  in  that 
light;  or,  for  her  sake,  that  people  should 
think  he  had  tired  of  her,  or  found  her 
wanting  in  any  one  particular.  He  knew 
only  too  well  how  people  would  talk.  How 
they  would  say  he  had  never  really  cared 
for  her ;  that  he  didn't  know  his  own  mind 
when  he  had  proposed  to  her;  and  that  it 
was  a  great  deal  better  for  her  as  it  is  than 
if  he  had  grown  out  of  humor  with  her  later. 
As  to  their  saying  she  had  jilted  him,  he 
didn't  mind  that.  He  much  preferred  they 
should  take  that  view  of  it,  and  he  was  chiv 
alrous  enough  to  hope  she  would  think  so  too. 

He  was  walking  slowly,  and  had  reached 
Thirtieth  Street.  A  great  many  young  girls 
and  women  had  bowed  to  him  or  nodded 
from  the  passing  carriages,  but  it  did  not 
tend  to  disturb  the  measure  of  his  thoughts. 
He  was  used  to  having  people  put  themselves 
out  to  speak  to  him ;  everybody  made  a  point 


60  A    WALK  UP   THE  AVENUE. 

of  knowing  him,  not  because  he  was  so  very 
handsome  and  well-looking,  and  an  over-pop 
ular  youth,  but  because  he  was  as  yet  un 
spoiled  by  it. 

But,  in  any  event,  he  concluded,  it  was  a 
miserable  business.  Still,  he  had  only  done 
Avhat  was  right.  He  had  seen  it  coming  on 
for  a  month  now,  and  how  much  better  it  was 
that  they  should  separate  now  than  later,  or 
that  they  should  have  had  to  live  separated 
in  all  but  location  for  the  rest  of  their  lives  I 
Yes,  he  had  done  the  right  thing  —  decidedly 
the  only  thing  to  do. 

He  was  still  walking  up  the  Avenue,  and 
had  reached  Thirty-Second  Street,  at  which 
point  his  thoughts  received  a  sudden  turn. 
A  half-dozen  men  in  a  club  window  nodded 
to  him,  and  brought  to  him  sharply  what  he 
was  going  back  to.  He  had  dropped  out  of 
their  lives  as  entirely  of  late  as  though  he 
had  been  living  in  a  distant  city.  When  he 
had  met  them  he  had  found  their  company 
uninteresting  and  unprofitable.  He  had  won 
dered  how  he  had  ever  cared  for  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  where  had  been  the  pleasure 
of  it.  Was  he  going  back  now  to  the  gos 
sip  of  that  window,  to  the  heavy  discussions 


A    WALK  UP   THE  AVENUE.  61 

of  traps  and  horses,  to  late  breakfasts  ancl 
early  suppers  ?  Must  he  listen  to  their  con- 
gratulations  on  his  being  one  of  them  again, 
and  must  he  guess  at  their  whispered  conjec 
tures  as  to  how  soon  it  would  be  before  he 
again  took  up  the  chains  and  harness  of  their 
fashion?  He  struck  the  pavement  sharply 
with  his  stick.  No,  he  was  not  going  back. 

She  had  taught  him  to  find  amusement  and 
occupation  in  many  things  that  were  better 
and  higher  than  any  pleasures  or  pursuits 
he  had  known  before,  and  he  could  not  give 
them  up.  He  had  her  to  thank  for  that  at 
least.  And  he  would  give  her  credit  for  it 
too,  and  gratefully.  He  would  always  re 
member  it,  and  he  would  show  in  his  way  of 
living  the  influence  and  the  good  effects  of 
these  three  months  in  which  they  had  been 
continually  together. 

He  had  reached  Forty-second  Street  now. 

Well,  it  was  over  with,  and  he  would  get 
to  work  at  something  or  other.  This  experi 
ence  had  shown  him  that  he  was  not  meant 
for  marriage ;  that  he  was  intended  to  live 
alone.  Because,  if  he  found  that  a  girl  as 
lovely  as  she  undeniably  was  palled  on  him 
after  three  months,  it  was  evident  that  he 


62  A    WALK  UP   THE  AVENUE. 

would  never  live  through  life  with  any  other 
one.  Yes,  he  would  always  be  a  bachelor. 
He  had  lived  his  life,  had  told  his  story  at  the 
age  of  twenty-five,  and  would  wait  patiently 
for  the  end,  a  marked  and  gloomy  man.  He 
would  travel  now  and  see  the  world.  He 
would  go  to  that  hotel  in  Cairo  she  was 
always  talking  about,  where  they  were  to 
have  gone  on  their  honeymoon ;  or  he  might 
strike  further  into  Africa,  and  come  back 
bronzed  and  worn  with  long  marches  and 
jungle  fever,  and  with  his  hair  prematurely 
white.  He  even  considered  himself,  with 
great  self-pity,  returning  and  finding  her  mar 
ried  and  happy,  of  course.  And  he  enjoyed, 
in  anticipation,  the  secret  doubts  she  would 
have  of  her  later  choice  when  she  heard  on 
all  sides  praise  of  this  distinguished  trav 
eller. 

And  he  pictured  himself  meeting  her  re 
proachful  glances  with  fatherly  friendliness, 
and  presenting  her  husband  with  tiger-skins, 
and  buying  her  children  extravagant  pres 
ents. 

This  was  at  Forty-fifth  Street. 

Yes,  that  was  decidedly  the  best  thing  to 
do.  To  go  away  and  improve  himself,  and 


A    WALK   UP  THE  AVENUE.  63 

study  up  all  those  painters  and  cathedrals 
with  which  she  was  so  hopelessly  conversant. 

He  remembered  how  out  of  it  she  had  once 
made  him  feel,  and  how  secretly  he  had  ad 
mired  her  when  she  had  referred  to  a  modern 
painting  as  looking  like  those  in  the  long 
gallery  of  the  Louvre.  He  thought  he  knew 
all  about  the  Louvre,  but  he  would  go  over 
again  and  locate  that  long  gallery,  and  become 
able  to  talk  to  her  understandingly  about  it. 

And  then  it  came  over  him  like  a  blast  of 
icy  air  that  ho  could  never  talk  over  things 
with  her  again.  He  had  reached  Fifty-fifth 
Street  now,  and  the  shock  brought  him  to  a 
standstill  on  the  corner,  where  he  stood  gaz 
ing  blankly  before  him.  He  felt  rather  weak 
physically,  and  decided  to  go  back  to  his 
rooms,  and  then  he  pictured  how  cheerless 
they  would  look,  and  how  little  of  comfort 
they  contained.  He  had  used  them  only  to 
dress  and  sleep  in  of  late,  and  the  distaste 
with  which  he  regarded  the  idea  that  he  must 
go  back  to  them  to  read  and  sit  and  live  in 
them,  showed  him  how  utterly  his  life  had 
become  bound  up  with  the  house  on  Twenty- 
seventh  Street. 

44  Where  was  he  to  go  in  the  evening  ? " 


64  A    WALK  UP  THE  AVENUE. 

he  asked  himself,  with  pathetic  hopelessness, 
"  or  in  the  morning  or  afternoon  for  that  mat 
ter?"  Were  there  to  be  no  more  of  those 
journeys  to  picture-galleries  and  to  the  big 
publishing  houses,  where  they  used  to  hover 
over  the  new  book  counter  and  pull  the  books 
about,  and  make  each  other  innumerable  pres 
ents  of  daintily  bound  volumes,  until  the 
clerks  grew  to  know  them  so  well  that  they 
never  went  through  the  form  of  asking 
where  the  books  were  to  be  sent?  And 
those  tete-a-tete  luncheons  at  her  house  when 
her  mother  was  upstairs  with  a  headache  or 
a  dressmaker,  and  the  long  rides  and  walks 
in  the  Park  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  rush 
down  town  to  dress,  only  to  return  to  dine 
with  them,  ten  minutes  late  always,  and 
always  with  some  new  excuse,  which  was 
allowed  if  it  was  clever,  and  frowned  at  if  it 
was  commonplace  —  was  all  this  really  over  ? 
Why,  the  town  had  only  run  on  because 
she  was  in  it,  and  as  he  walked  the  streets 
the  very  shop  windows  had  suggested  her  to 
him  —  florists  only  existed  that  he  might 
send  her  flowers,  and  gowns  and  bonnets  in 
the  milliners'  windows  were  only  pretty  as 
they  would  become  her;  and  as  for  the 


A    WALK  UP   THE  AVENUE.  65 

theatres  and  the  newspapers,  they  were  only 
worth  while  as  they  gave  her  pleasure.  And 
he  had  given  all  this  up,  and  for  what,  he 
asked  himself,  and  why  ? 

He  could  not  answer  that  now.  It  was 
simply  because  he  had  been  surfeited  with 
too  much  content,  he  replied,  passionately. 
He  had  not  appreciated  how  happy  he  had 
been.  She  had  been  too  kind,  too  gracious. 
He  had  never  known  until  he  had  quarrelled 
with  her  and  lost  her  how  precious  and  dear 
she  had  been  to  him. 

He  was  at  the  entrance  to  the  Park  now, 
and  he  strode  on  along  the  walk,  bitterly  up 
braiding  himself  for  being  worse  then  a  crimi 
nal  —  a  fool,  a  common  blind  mortal  to  whom 
a  goddess  had  stooped. 

He  remembered  with  bitter  regret  a  turn 

O 

off  the  driv-j  int.;  which  they  had  wandered 
one  day,  .1  secluded,  pretty  spot  with  a  circle 
of  box  around  it,  and  into  the  turf  of  which 
he  had  driven  his  stick,  and  claimed  it  for 
them  both  by  the  right  of  discovery.  And 
he  recalled  how  they  had  used  to  go  there, 
just  out  of  sight  of  their  friends  in  the  ride, 
and  sit  and  chatter  on  a  green  bench  beneath 
a  bu.?h  of  box,  like  any  nursery  maid  and  her 


66  A    WALK  UP   THE  AVENUE. 

young  man,  while  her  groom  stood  at  the 
brougham  door  in  the  bridle-path  beyond. 
He  had  broken  off  a  sprig  of  the  box  one 
day  and  given  it  to  her,  and  she  had  kissed 
it  foolishly,  and  laughed,  and  hidden  it  in  the 
folds  of  her  riding-skirt,  in  burlesque  fear  lest 
the  guards  should  arrest  them  for  breaking 
the  much-advertised  ordinance. 

And  he  remembered  with  a  miserable  smile 
how  she  had  delighted  him  with  her  account 
of  her  adventure  to  her  mother,  and  described 
them  as  fleeing  down  the  Avenue  with  their 
treasure,  pursued  by  a  squadron  of  mounted 
policemen. 

This  and  a  hundred  other  of  the  foolish, 
happy  fancies  they  had  shared  in  common 
came  back  to  him,  and  he  remembered  how 
she  had  stopped  one  cold  afternoon  just  out 
side  of  this  favorite  spot,  beside  an  open  iron 
grating  sunk  in  the  path,  into  which  the  rain 
had  washed  the  autumn  leaves,  and  pretended 
it  was  a  steam  radiator,  and  held  her  slim 
gloved  hands  out  over  it  as  if  to  warm  them. 

How  absurdly  happy  she  used  to  make 
him,  and  how  light-hearted  she  had  been! 
He  determined  suddenly  and  sentimentally 
to  go  to  that  secret  place  now,  and  bury  the 


A    WALK  UP  THE  AVENUE.  G7 

engagement  ring  she  had  handed  hack  to 
him  under  that  bush  as  he  had  buried  his 
hopes  of  happiness,  and  he  pictured  how 
some  da y  when  he  was  dead  she  would  read 
of  this  in  his  will,  and  go  and  dig  up  the 
ring,  and  remember  and  forgive  him.  He 
struck  off  from  the  walk  across  the  turf 
straight  toward  this  dell,  taking  the  ring 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  clinching  it 
in  his  hand.  He  was  walking  quickly  with 
rapt  interest  in  this  idea  of  abnegation  when 
he  noticed,  unconsciously  at  first  and  then 
with  a  start,  the  familiar  outlines  and  colors 
of  her  brougham  drawn  up  in  the  drive  not 
twenty  yards  from  their  old  meeting-place. 
He  could  not  be  mistaken ;  he  knew  the 
horses  well  enough,  and  there  was  old  Wal- 
lis  on  the  box  and  young  Wallis  on  the 
path. 

He  stopped  breathlessly,  and  then  tipped 
on  cautiously,  keeping  the  encircling  line  of 
bushes  between  him  and  the  carriage.  And 
then  he  saw  through  the  leaves  that  there 
was  some  one  in  the  place,  and  that  it  was 
she.  He  stopped,  confused  and  amazed.  He 
could  not  comprehend  it.  She  must  have 
driven  to  the  place  immediately  on  his  depart- 


68  A   WALK  UP  THE  AVENUE. 

ure.     But  why  ?     And  why  to  that  place  of 
all  others? 

He  parted  the  bushes  with  his  hands,  and 
saw  her  lovely  and  sweet-looking  as  she  had 
always  been,  standing  under  the  box  bush 
beside  the  bench,  and  breaking  off  one  of  the 
green  branches.  The  branch  parted  and  tht> 
stem  flew  back  to  its  place  again,  leaving  a 
green  sprig  in  her  hand.  She  turned  at  that 
moment  directly  toward  him,  and  he  could 
see  from  his  hiding-place  how  she  lifted  the 
leaves  to  her  lips,  and  that  a  tear  was  creep 
ing  down  her  cheek. 

Then  he  dashed  the  bushes  aside  with  both 
aims,  and  with  a  cry  that  no  one  but  she 
h3ard  sprang  toward  her. 

Young  Van  Bibber  stopped  his  mail  phae 
ton  in  front  of  the  club,  and  went  inside  to 
recuperate,  and  told  how  he  had  seen  them 
driving  home  through  the  Park  in  her 
brougham  and  unchaperoned. 

u  Which  I  call  very  bad  form,"  said  the 
punctilious  Van  Bibber,  "  even  though  the) 
are  engaged." 


MY  DISEEPUTABLE  FRIEND, 
MR.  RAEGEN, 


RAGS  RAEGEN  was  out  of  his  element. 
The  water  was  his  proper  element  —  the 
water  of  the  East  River  by  preference.  And 
when  it  came  to  "  running  the  roofs,"  as  he 
would  have  himself  expressed  it,  he  was  "  not 
in  it." 

On  those  other  occasions  when  he  had 
been  followed  by  the  police,  he  had  raced 
them  toward  the  river  front  and  had  dived 
boldly  in  from  the  wharf,  leaving  them  star 
ing  blankly  and  in  some  alarm  as  to  his 
safety.  Indeed,  three  different  men  in  the 
precinct,  who  did  not  know  of  young  Rae- 
gen's  aquatic  prowess,  had  returned  to  the 
station-house  and  seriously  reported  him  to 
the  sergeant  as  lost,  and  regretted  having 
driven  a  citizen  into  the  river,  where  he  had 
been  unfortunately  drowned.  It  was  even 
told  how,  on  one  occasion,  when  hotly  fol 
lowed,  young  Raegen  had  dived  off  Wake- 

69 


70  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

man's  Slip,  at  East  Thirty-third  Street,  and 
had  then  swum  back  under  water  to  the 
landing-steps,  while  the  policeman  and  a 
crowd  of  stevedores  stood  watching  for  him 
to  reappear  where  he  had  sunk.  It  is  further 
related  that  he  had  then,  in  a  spirit  of  reck 
lessness,  and  in  the  possibility  of  the  police 
man's  failing  to  recognize  him,  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd  from  the  rear  and 
plunged  in  to  rescue  the  supposedly  drowned 
man.  And  that  after  two  or  three  futile 
attempts  to  find  his  own  corpse,  he  had 
climbed  up  on  the  dock  and  told  the  officer 
that  he  had  touched  the  body  sticking  in  the 
mud.  And,  as  a  result  of  this  fiction,  the 
river-police  dragged  the  river-bed  around 
Wakeman's  Slip  with  grappling-irons  for 
four  hours,  while  Rags  sat  on  the  wharf  and 
directed  their  movements. 

But  on  this  present  occasion  the  police 
were  standing  between  him  and  the  river, 
and  so  cut  off  his  escape  in  that  direction, 
and  as  they  had  seen  him  strike  McGonegal 
and  had  seen  McGonegal  fall,  he  had  to  run 
for  it  and  seek  refuge  on  the  roofs.  What 
made  it  worse  was  that  he  was  not  in  his  own 
hunting-grounds,  but  in  McGonegal's,  and 


ME.   EAEGEN.  71 

while  any  tenement  on  Cherry  Street  would 
have  given  him  shelter,  either  for  love  of 
him  or  fear  of  him,  these  of  Thirty-third 
Street  were  against  him  and  "  all  that  Cherry 
Street  gang,"  while  "  Pike  "  McGonegal  was 
their  darling  and  their  hero.  And,  if  Rags 
had  known  it,  any  tenement  on  the  block 
was  better  than  Case's,  into  which  he  first 
turned,  for  Case's  was  empty  and  untenanted, 
save  in  one  or  two  rooms,  and  the  opportuni 
ties  for  dodging  from  one  to  another  were  in 
consequence  very  few.  But  he  could  not 
know  this,  and  so  he  plunged  into  the  dark 
hall- way  and  sprang  up  the  first  four  flights 
of  stairs,  three  steps  at  a  jump,  with  one  arm 
stretched  out  in  front  of  him,  for  it  was  very 
dark  and  the  turns  were  short.  On  the  fourth 
floor  he  fell  headlong  over  a  bucket  with  a 
broom  sticking  in  it,  and  cursed  whoever  left 
it  there.  There  was  a  ladder  leading  from 
the  sixth  floor  to  the  roof,  and  he  ran  up  this 
and  drew  it  after  him  as  he  fell  forward  out 
of  the  wooden  trap  that  opened  on  the  flat 
tin  roof  like  a  companion-way  of  a  ship. 
The  chimneys  would  have  hidden  him,  but 
there  was  a  policeman's  helmet  coming  up 
from  another  companion-way,  and  he  saw 


72  NT  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

that  the  Italians  hanging  out  of  the  windows 
of  the  other  tenements  were  pointing  at  him 
and  showing  him  to  the  officer.  So  he  hung 
by  his  hands  and  dropped  back  again.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  fall,  but  it  jarred  him, 
and  the  race  he  had  already  run  had  nearly 
taken  his  breath  from  him.  For  Rags  did 
not  live  a  life  calculated  to  fit  young  men 
for  sudden  trials  of  speed. 

He  stumbled  back  down  the  narrow  stairs, 
and,  with  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  bucket 
he  had  already  fallen  upon,  felt  his  way  cau 
tiously  with  his  hands  and  with  one  foot 
stuck  out  in  front  of  him.  If  he  had  been 
in  his  own  bailiwick,  he  would  have  rather 
enjoyed  the  tense  excitement  of  the  chase 
than  otherwise,  for  there  he  was  at  home  and 
knew  all  the  cross-cuts  and  where  to  find 
each  broken  paling  in  the  roof -fences,  and  all 
the  traps  in  the  roofs.  But  here  he  was  run 
ning  in  a  maze,  and  what  looked  like  a  safe 
passageway  might  throw  him  head  on  into 
the  outstretched  arms  of  the  officers. 

And  while  he  felt  his  way  his  mind  was 
terribly  acute  to  the  fact  that  as  }^et  no  door 
on  any  of  the  landings  had  been  thrown  open 
to  him,  either  curiously  or  hospitably  as  offer- 


MR.  RAEGEN.  73 

ing  a  place  of  refuge.  He  did  not  want  to 
be  taken,  but  in  spite  of  this  he  was  quite 
cool,  and  so,  when  he  heard  quick,  heavy 
footsteps  beating  up  the  stairs,  he  stopped 
himself  suddenly  by  placing  one  hand  on  the 
side  of  the  wall  and  the  other  on  the  banis 
ter  and  halted,  panting.  He  could  distin 
guish  from  below  the  high  voices  of  women 
and  children  and  excited  men  in  the  street, 
and  as  the  steps  came  nearer  he  heard  some 
one  lowering  the  ladder  he  had  thrown  upon 
the  roof  to  the  sixth  floor  and  preparing  to 
descend.  "  Ah !  "  snarled  Raegen,  panting 
and  desperate,  "you'se  think  you  have  me 
now,  sure,  don't  you?  "  It  rather  frightened 
him  to  find  the  house  so  silent,  for,  save  the 
footsteps  of  the  officers,  descending  and 
ascending  upon  him,  he  seemed  to  be  the 
only  living  person  -in  all  the  dark,  silent 
building. 

He  did  not  want  to  fight. 

He  was  under  heavy  bonds  already  to  keep 
the  peace,  and  this  last  had  surely  been  in 
self-defence,  and  he  felt  he  could  prove  it. 
What  he  wanted  now  was  to  get  away,  to 
get  back  to  his  own  people  and  to  lie  hidden 
in  his  own  cellar  or  garret,  where  they  would 


74  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

feed  and  guard  him  until  the  trouble  was 
over.  And  still,  like  the  two  ends  of  a  vise, 
the  representatives  of  the  law  were  closing  in 
upon  him.  He  turned  the  knob  of  the  door 
opening  to  the  landing  on  which  he  stood, 
and  tried  to  push  it  in,  but  it  was  locked. 
Then  he  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  on  the 
opposite  side  and  threw  his  shoulder  against 
it.  The  door  opened,  and  he  stumbled  for 
ward  sprawling.  The  room  in  which  he  had 
taken  refuge  was  almost  bare,  and  very  dark ; 
but  in  a  little  room  leading  from  it  he  saw  a 
pile  of  tossed-up  bedding  on  the  floor,  and  he 
dived  at  this  as  though  it  was  water,  and 
crawled  far  under  it  until  he  reached  the 
wall  beyond,  squirming  on  his  face  and 
stomach,  and  flattening  out  his  arms  and 
legs.  Then  he  lay  motionless,  holding  back 
his  breath,  and  listening  to  the  beating  of 
his  heart  and  to  the  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 
The  footsteps  stopped  on  the  landing  lead 
ing  to  the  outer  room,  and  he  could  hear 
the  murmur  of  voices  as  the  two  men  ques 
tioned  one  another.  Then  the  door  was 
kicked  open,  and  there  was  a  long  silence, 
broken  sharply  by  the  click  of  a  revolver. 
44  Maybe  he's  in  there,"  said  a  bass  voice. 


ME.  EAEGEN.  75 

The  men  stamped  across  the  floor  leading 
into  the  dark  room  in  which  he  lay,  and 
halted  at  the  entrance.  They  did  not  stand 
there  over  a  moment  before  they  turned  and 
moved  away  again ;  but  to  Raegen,  lying 
with  blood-vessels  choked,  and  with  his  hand 
pressed  across  his  mouth,  it  seemed  as  if  they 
had  been  contemplating  and  enjoying  his 
agony  for  over  an  hour.  "  I  was  in  this  place 
not  more  than  twelve  hours  ago,"  said  one  of 
them  easily.  "I  come  in  to  take  a  couple 
out  for  fighting.  They  were  yelling  'murder' 
and  '  police,'  and  breaking  things ;  but  they 
went  quiet  enough.  The  man  is  a  stevedore, 
I  guess,  and  him  and  his  wife  used  to  get 
drunk  regular  and  carry  on  up  here  every 
night  or  so.  They  got  thirty  days  on  th^ 
Island." 

"  Who's  taking  care  of  the  rooms  ?  "  asked 
the  bass  voice.  The  first  voice  said  he 
guessed  "no  one  was,"  and  added:  "There 
ain't  much  to  take  care  of,  that  I  can  see." 
"  That's  so,"  assented  the  bass  voice.  "  Well," 
he  went  on  briskly,  "  he's  not  here  ;  but  he's 
in  the  building,  sure,  for  he  pat  back  when 
he  seen  me  coming  over  the  roof.  And  he 
didn't  pass  me,  neither,  I  know  that,  anyway," 


76  MT  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

protested  the  bass  voice.  Then  the  bass 
voice  said  that  he  must  have  slipped  into  the 
flat  below,  and  added  something  that  Raegen 
could  not  hear  distinctly,  about  Schaffer  on 
the  roof,  and  their  having  him  safe  enough, 
as  that  red-headed  cop  from  the  Eighteenth 
Precinct  was  watching  on  the  street.  They 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  and  their  foot 
steps  clattered  down  the  stairs,  leaving  the 
big  house  silent  and  apparently  deserted. 
Young  Raegen  raised  his  head,  and  let  his 
breath  escape  with  a  great  gasp  of  relief,  as 
when  he  had  been  a  long  time  under  water, 
and  cautiously  rubbed  the  perspiration  out  of 
his  eyes  and  from  his  forehead.  It  had  been 
a  cruelly  hot,  close  afternoon,  and  the  stifling 
burial  under  the  heavy  bedding,  and  the  ex 
citement,  had  left  him  feverishly  hot  and 
trembling.  It  was  already  growing  dark  out 
side,  although  he  could  not  know  that  until 
he  lifted  the  quilts  an  inch  or  two  and  peered 
up  at  the  dirty  window-panes.  He  was  afraid 
to  rise,  as  yet,  and  flattened  himself  out  with 
an  impatient  sigh,  as  he  gathered  the  bedding 
over  his  head  again  and  held  back  his  breath 
to  listen.  There  may  have  been  a  minute  or 
more  of  absolute  silence  in  which  he  lay 


MR.   RAEGEN.  77 

there,  and  then  his  blood  froze  to  ice  in  his 
veins,  his  breath  stopped,  and  he  heard,  with 
a  quick  gasp  of  terror,  the  sound  of  some 
thing  crawling  toward  him  across  the  floor  of 
the  outer  room.  The  instinct  of  self-defence 
moved  him  first  to  leap  to  his  feet,  and  to 
face  and  fight  it,  and  then  followed  as  quickly 
a  foolish  sense  of  safety  in  his  hiding-place ; 
and  he  called  upon  his  greatest  strength,  and, 
by  his  mere  brute  will  alone,  forced  his  fore 
head  down  to  the  bare  floor  and  lay  rigid, 
though  his  nerves  jerked  with  unknown,  un 
reasoning  fear.  And  still  he  heard  the  sound 
of  this  living  thing  coming  creeping  toward 
him  until  the  instinctive  terror  that  shook 
him  overcame  his  will,  and  he  threw  the  bed 
clothes  from  him  with  a  hoarse  cry,  and 
sprang  up  trembling  to  his  feet,  with  his  back 
against  the  wall,  and  with  his  arms  thrown 
out  in  front  of  him  wildly,  and  with  the  will 
ingness  in  them  and  the  power  in  them  to  do 
murder. 

The  room  was  very  dark,  but  the  windows 
of  the  one  beyond  let  in  a  little  stream  of 
light  across  the  floor,  and  in  this  light  he  saw 
moving  toward  him  on  its  hands  and  knees 
a  little  baby  who  smiled  and  nodded  at  him 


78  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FEIEND, 

with  a  pleased  look  of  recognition  and  kindly 
welcome. 

The  fear  upon  Raegen  had  been  so  strong 
and  the  reaction  was  so  great  that  he  dropped 
to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  heap  of  bedding 
and  laughed  long  and  weakly,  and  still  with 
a  feeling  in  his  heart  that  this  apparition  was 
something  strangely  unreal  and  menacing. 

But  the  baby  seemed  well  pleased  with  his 
laughter,  and  stopped  to  throw  back  its  head 
and  smile  and  coo  and  laugh  gently  with  him 
as  though  the  joke  was  a  very  good  one  which 
they  shared  in  common.  Then  it  struggled 
solemnly  to  its  feet  and  came  pattering  toward 
him  on  a^run,  with  both  bare  arms  held  out, 
and  with  a  look  of  such  confidence  in  him, 
and  welcome  in  its  face,  that  Raegen  stretched 
out  his  arms  and  closed  the  baby's  fingers 
fearfully  and  gently  in  his  own. 

He  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  child. 
There  was  dirt  enough  on  its  hands  and  face, 
and  its  torn  dress  was  soiled  with  streaks  of 
coal  and  ashes.  The  dust  of  the  floor  had 
rubbed  into  its  bare  knees,  but  the  face  was 
like  no  other  face  that  Rags  had  ever  seen. 
And  then  it  looked  at  him  as  though  it 
trusted  him,  and  just  as  though  they  had 


MR.   EAEGEN.  79 

known  each  other  at  some  time  long  before, 
but  the  eyes  of  the  baby  somehow  seemed  to 
hurt  him  so  that  he  had  to  turn  his  face 
away,  and  when  he  looked  again  it  was  with 
a  strangely  new  feeling  of  dissatisfaction 
with  himself  and  of  wishing  to  ask  pardon. 
They  were  wonderful  eyes,  black  and  rich, 
and  with  a  deep  superiority  of  knowledge  in 
them,  a  knowledge  that  seemed  to  be  above 
the  knowledge  of  evil;  and  when  the  baby 
smiled  at  him,  the  eyes  smiled  too  with  confi 
dence  and  tenderness  in  them  that  in  some 
way  frightened  Rags  and  made  him  move 
uncomfortably.  "  Did  you  know  that  you'se 
scared  me  so  that  I  was  going  to  kill  you  ?  " 
whispered  Rags,  apologetically,  as  he  carefully 
held  the  baby  from  him  at  arm's  length. 
"Did  you?"  But  the  baby  only  smiled  at 
this  and  reached  out  its  hand  and  stroked 
Rag's  cheek  with  its  fingers.  There  was 
something  so  wonderfully  soft  and  sweet  in 
this  that  Rags  drew  the  baby  nearer  and  gave 
a  quick,  strange  gasp  of  pleasure  as  it  threw 
its  arms  around  his  neck  and  brought  the  face 
up  close  to  his  chin  and  hugged  him  tightly, 
The  baby's  arms  were  very  soft  and  plump, 
and  its  cheek  and  tangled  hair  were  warm 


80  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

and  moist  with  perspiration,  and  the  breath 
that  fell  on  Raegen's  face  was  sweeter  than 
anything  he  had  ever  known.  He  felt  won' 
derfully  and  for  some  reason  uncomfortably 
happy,  but  the  silence  was  oppressive. 

"What's  your  name,  little  'un?"  said  Eags. 

The  baby  ran  its  arms  more  closely  around 
Raegen's  neck  and  did  not  speak  unless  its  coo 
ing  in  Raegen's  ear  was  an  answer.  "  What 
did  you  say  your  name  was  ?  "  persisted  Rae- 
gen,  in  a  whisper.  The  baby  frowned  at  this 
and  stopped  cooing  long  enough  to  say, 
"  Mar'gret,"  mechanically  and  without  appar 
ently  associating  the  name  with  herself  or 
anything  else.  "Margaret,  eh!"  said  Rae- 
gen,  with  grave  consideration,,  "  It's  a  very 
pretty  name,"  he  added,  politely,  for  he  could 
not  shake  off  the  feeling  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  superior  being.  "An'  what  did 
you  say  your  dad's  name  was?"  asked  Raegen, 
awkwardly.  But  this  was  beyond  the  baby's 
patience  or  knowledge,  and  she  waived  the 
question  aside  with  both  arms  and  began  to 
beat  a  tattoo  gently  with  her  two  closed  fists  on 
Raegen's  chin  and  throat.  "You're  mighty 
strong  now,  ain't  you?"  mocked  the  young 
giant,  laughing.  "  Perhaps  you  don't  know, 


MR.  EAEGEN*  81 

Missie,"  he  added,  gravely,  "that  your  dad 
and  mar  are  doing  time  on  the  Island,  and 
you  won't  see  'em  again  for  a  month."  No, 
the  baby  did  not  know  this  nor  care  appar 
ently;  she  seemed  content  with  Rags  and 
with  his  company.  Sometimes  she  drew  away 
and  looked  at  him  long  and  dubiously,  and 
this  cut  Rags  to  the  heart,  and  he  felt  guilty, 
and  unreasonably  anxious  until  she  smiled 
reassuringly  again  and  ran  back  into  his  arms, 
nestling  her  face  against  his  and  stroking  his 
rough  chin  wonderingly  with  her  little  fingers. 
Rags  forgot  the  lateness  of  the  night  and 
the  darkness  that  fell  upon  the  room  in  the 
interest  of  this  strange  entertainment,  which 
was  so  much  more  absorbing,  and  so  much 
more  innocent  than  any  other  he  had  ever 
known.  He  almost  forgot  the  fact  that  he 
lay  in  hiding,  that  he  was  surrounded  by 
unfriendly  neighbors,  and  that  at  any  moment 
the  representatives  of  local  justice  might  come 
in  and  rudely  lead  him  away.  For  this  rea 
son  he  dared  not  make  a  light,  but  he  moved 
his  position  so  that  the  glare  from  an  elec 
tric  lamp  on  the  street  outside  might  fall 
across  the  baby's  face,  as  it  lay  alternately 
dozing  and  awakening,  to  smile  up  at  him  in 


82  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

the  bend  of  his  arm.  Once  it  reached  inside 
the  collar  of  his  shirt  and  pulled  out  the 
scapula  that  hung  around  his  neck,  and  looked 
at  it  so  long,  and  with  such  apparent  seri 
ousness,  that  Rags  was  confirmed  in  his 
fear  that  this  kindly  visitor  was  something 
more  or  less  of  a  superhuman  agent,  and  his 
efforts  to  make  this  supposition  coincide  with 
the  fact  that  the  angel's  parents  were  on 
Blackwell's  Island,  proved  one  of  the  severest 
struggles  his  mind  had  ever  experienced. 
He  had  forgotten  to  feel  hungry,  and  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  acutely  so,  first  came 
to  him  with  the  thought  that  the  baby  must 
obviously  be  in  greatest  need  of  food  herself. 
This  pained  him  greatly,  and  he  laid  his 
burden  down  upon  the  bedding,  and  after 
slipping  off  his  shoes,  tiptoed  his  way  across 
the  room  on  a  foraging  expedition  after  some 
thing  she  could  eat.  There  was  a  half  of  a 
ham-bone,  and  a  half  loaf  of  hard  bread  in  a 
cupboard,  and  on  the  table  he  found  a  bottle 
quite  filled  with  wretched  whiskey.  That 
the  police  had  failed  to  see  the  baby  had  not 
appealed  to  him  in  any  way,  but  that  they 
should  have  allowed  this  last  find  to  remain 
unnoticed  pleased  him  intensely,  not  because 


MR.  RAEGEN.  83 

it  now  fell  to  him,  but  because  they  had  been 
cheated  of  it.  It  really  struck  him  as  so 
humorous  that  he  stood  laughing  silently  for 
several  minutes,  slapping  his  thigh  with  every 
outward  exhibition  of  the  keenest  mirth.  But 
when  he  found  that  the  room  and  cupboard 
were  bare  of  anything  else  that  might  be 
eaten  he  sobered  suddenly.  It  was  very  hot, 
and  though  the  windows  were  open,  the  per- 
spiraticn  stood  upon  his  face,  and  the  foul 
close  air  that  rose  from  the  court  and  street 
below  made  him  gasp  and  pant  for  breath. 
He  dipped  a  wash  rag  in  the  water  from  the 
spigot  in  the  hall,  and  filled  a  cup  with  it 
and  bathed  the  baby's  face  and  wrists.  She 
woke  and  sipped  up  the  water  from  the  cup 
eagerly,  and  then  looked  up  at  him,  as  if  to 
ask  for  something  more.  Rags  soaked  the 
crusty  bread  in  the  water,  and  put  it  to  the 
baby's  lips,  but  after  nibbling  at  it  eagerly 
she  shook  her  head  and  looked  up  at  him 
again  with  such  reproachful  pleading  in  her 
eyes,  that  Rags  felt  her  silence  more  keenly 
than  the  worst  abuse  he  had  ever  received. 

It  hurt  him  so,  that  the  pain  brought  tears 
to  his  eyes. 

"  Deary  girl,"  he  cried,  "  I'd  give  you  any- 


84  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

thing  you  could  think  of  if  I  had  it.  But  1 
can't  get  it,  see  ?  It  ain't  that  I  don't  want 
to  —  good  Lord,  little  'un,  you  don't  think 
that,  do  you  ?  " 

The  baby  smiled  at  this,  just  as  though  she 
understood  him,  and  touched  his  face  as  if  to 
comfort  him,  so  that  Rags  felt  that  same 
exquisite  content  again,  which  moved  him  so 
strangely  whenever  the  child  caressed  him, 
and  which  left  him  soberly  wondering.  Then 
the  baby  crawled  up  onto  his  lap  and  dropped 
asleep,  while  Rags  sat  motionless  and  fanned 
her  with  a  folded  newspaper,  stopping  every 
now  and  then  to  pass  the  damp  cloth  over 
her  warm  face  and  arms.  It  was  quite  late 
now.  Outside  he  could  hear  the  neighbors 
laughing  and  talking  on  the  roofs,  and  when 
one  group  sang  hilariously  to  an  accordion, 
he  cursed  them  under  his  breath  for  noisy, 
drunken  fools,  and  in  his  anger  lest  they 
should  disturb  the  child  in  his  arms,  expressed 
an  anxious  hope  that  they  would  fall  off  and 
break  their  useless  necks.  It  grew  silent  and 
much  cooler  as  the  night  ran  out,  but  Rags 
still  sat  immovable,  shivering  slightly  every 
now  and  then  and  cautiously  stretching  his 
stiff  legs  and  body.  The  arm  that  held  the 


ME.   RAEGEN.  85 

child  grew  stiff  and  numb  with  the  light 
burden,  but  he  took  a  fierce  pleasure  in  the 
pain,  and  became  hardened  to  it,  and  at  last 
fell  into  an  uneasy  slumber  from  which  he 
awoke  to  pass  his  hands  gently  over  the  soft 
yielding  body,  and  to  draw  it  slowly  and 
closer  to  him.  And  then,  from  very  weari 
ness,  his  eyes  closed  and  his  head  fell  back 
heavily  against  the  wall,  and  the  man  and 
the  child  in  his  arms  si  :pt  peacefully  in  the 
dark  corner  J:  the  deserted  tenement. 

The  sun  rose  hissing  out  of  the  East  River, 
a  broad,  red  disc  of  heat.  It  swept  the  cross- 
streets  of  the  city  as  pitilessly  as  the  search 
light  of  a  man-of-war  sweeps  the  ocean.  It 
blazed  brazenly  into  open  windows,  and 
changed  beds  into  gridirons  on  which  the 
sleepers  tossed  and  turned  and  woke  unre- 
freshed  and  with  throats  dry  and  parched. 
Its  glare  awakened  Rags  into  a  startled  belief 
that  the  place  about  him  was  on  fire,  and  he 
stared  wildly  until  the  child  in  his  arms 
brought  him  back  to  the  knowledge  of  where 
he  was.  He  ached  in  every  joint  and  limb, 
and  his  eyes  smarted  with  the  dry  heat,  but 
the  baby  concerned  him  most,  for  she  was 
breathing  with  hard,  long,  irregular  gasps, 


86  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

her  mouth  was  open  and  her  absurdly  small 
fists  were  clenched,  and  around  her  closed 
eyes  were  deep  blue  rings.  Rags  felt  a  cold 
rush  of  fear  and  uncertainty  come  over  him 
as  he  stared  about  him  helplessly  for  aid. 
He  had  seen  babies  look  like  this  before,  in 
the  tenements ;  they  were  like  this  when  the 
young  doctors  of  the  Health  Board  climbed 
to  the  roofs  to  see  them,  and  they  were  like 
this,  only  quiet  and  still,  when  the  ambulance 
came  clattering  up  the  narrow  streets,  and 
bore  them  away.  Rags  carried  the  baby  into 
the  outer  room,  where  the  sun  had  not  yet 
penetrated,  and  laid  her  down  gently  on  the 
coverlets ;  then  he  let  the  water  in  the  sink 
run  until  it  was  fairly  cool,  and  with  this 
bathed  the  baby's  face  and  hands  and  feet, 
and  lifted  a  cup  of  the  water  to  her  open  lips. 
She  woke  at  this  and  smiled  again,  but  very 
faintly,  and  when  she  looked  at  him  he  felt 
fearfully  sure  that  she  did  not  know  him,  and 
that  she  was  looking  through  and  past  him  at 
something  he  could  not  see. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  do,  and  he  wanted 
to  do  so  much.  Milk  was  the  only  thing  he 
was  quite  sure  babies  cared  for,  but  in  want 
of  this  he  made  a  mess  of  bits  of  the  dry  ham 


MR.   EAEGEN.  87 

and  crumbs  of  bread,  moistened  with  the  raw 
whiskey,  and  put  it  to  her  lips  on  the  end  of 
a  spoon.  The  baby  tasted  this,  and  pushed 
his  hand  away,  and  then  looked  up  and  gave 
a  feeble  cry,  and  seemed  to  say,  as  plainly  as 
a  grown  woman  could  have  said  or  written, 
"  It  isn't  any  use,  Rags.  You  are  very  good 
to  me,  but,  indeed,  I  cannot  do  it.  Don't 
worry,  please;  I  don't  blame  you." 

"  Great  Lord,"  gasped  Rags,  with  a  queer 
choking  in  his  throat,  "but  ain't  she  got 
grit."  Then  he  bethought  him  of  the  people 
who  he  still  believed  inhabited  the  rest  of  the 
tenement,  and  he  concluded  that  as  the  day 
was  yet  so  early  they  might  still  be  asleep, 
and  that  while  they  slept,  he  could  "  lift "  — 
as  he  mentally  described  the  act — whatever 
they  might  have  laid  away  for  breakfast. 
Excited  with  this  hope,  he  ran  noiselessly  down 
the  stairs  in  his  bare  feet,  and  tried  the  doors 
of  the  different  landings.  But  each  he  found 
open  and  each  room  bare  and  deserted.  Then 
it  occurred  to  him  that  at  this  hour  he  might 
even  risk  a  sally  into  the  street.  He  had 
money  with  him,  and  the  milk-carts  and  bak 
ers'  wagons  must  be  passing  every  minute. 
He  ran  back  to  get  the  money  out  o^  3iis 


88  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FKIEND, 

coat,  delighted  with  the  chance  and  chiding 
himself  for  not  having  dared  to  do  it  sooner. 
He  stood  over  the  baby  a  moment  before  he 
left  the  room,  and  flushed  like  a  girl  as  he 
stooped  and  kissed  one  of  the  bare  arms. 
"  I'm  going  out  to  get  you  some  breakfast," 
he  said.  "I  won't  be  gone  long,  but  if  I 
should,"  he  added,  as  he  paused  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  "I'll  send  the  sergeant  after 
you  from  the  station-house.  If  I  only  wasn't 
under  bonds,"  he  muttered,  as  he  slipped 
down  the  stairs.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  that  they 
couldn't  give  me  more'n  a  month  at  the  most, 
even  knowing  all  they  do  of  me.  It  was 
only  a  street  fight,  anyway,  and  there  was 
some  there  that  must  have  seen  him  pull  his 
pistol."  He  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  first 
flight  of  stairs  and  sat  down  to  wait.  He 
could  see  below  the  top  of  the  open  front 
door,  the  pavement  and  a  part  of  the  street 
beyond,  and  when  he  heard  the  rattle  of  an 
approaching  cart  he  ran  on  down  and  then, 
with  an  oath,  turned  and  broke  up  stairs 
again.  He  had  seen  the  ward  detectives 
standing  together  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street. 

"Wot  are  they  doing  out  a   bed   at   this 


ME.   RAEGEN.  89 

hour?"  he  demanded  angrily.  "Don't  they 
make  trouble  enough  through  the  day,  with 
out  prowling  around  before  decent  people 
are  up?  I  wonder,  now,  if  they're  after  me." 
He  dropped  on  his  knees  when  he  reached 
the  room  where  the  baby  lay,  and  peered  cau 
tiously  out  of  the  window  at  the  detectives, 
who  had  been  joined  by  two  other  men,  with 
whom  they  were  talking  earnestly.  Raegen 
knew  the  new-comers  for  two  of  McGonegal's 
friends,  and  concluded,  with  a  momentary 
flush  of  pride  and  self-importance,  that  the 
detectives  were  forced  to  be  up  at  this  early 
hour  solely  on  his  account.  But  this  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  afterthought  that  he  must  have 
hurt  McGonegal  seriously,  and  that  he  was 
wanted  in  consequence  very  much.  This  dis 
turbed  him  most,  he  was  surprised  to  find,  be 
cause  it  precluded  his  going  forth  in  search 
of  food.  "  I  guess  I  can't  get  you  that  milk 
I  was  looking  for,"  he  said,  jocularly,  to  the 
baby,  for  the  excitement  elated  him.  "  The 
sun  outside  isn't  good  for  me  health."  The 
baby  settled  herself  in  his  arms  and  slept 
again,  which  sobered  Rags,  for  he  argued  it 
was  a  bad  sign,  and  his  own  ravenous  appe 
tite  warned  him  how  the  child  suffered. 


90  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FE1END, 

When  he  again  offered  her  the  mixture  he 
had  prepared  for  her,  she  took  it  eagerly,  and 
Rags  breathed  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  Then 
he  ate  some  of  the  bread  and  ham  himself 
and  swallowed  half  the  whiskey,  and  stretched 
out  beside  the  child  and  fanned  her  while  she 
slept.  It  was  something  strangely  incompre 
hensible  to  Rags  that  he  should  feel  so  keen 
a  satisfaction  in  doing  even  this  little  for  her, 
but  he  gave  up  wondering,  and  forgot  every 
thing  else  in  watching  the  strange  beauty  of 
the  sleeping  baby  and  in  the  odd  feeling  of 
responsibility  and  self-respect  she  had  brought 
to  him. 

He  did  not  feel  it  coming  on,  or  he  would 
have  fought  against  it,  but  the  heat  of  the 
day  and  the  sleeplessness  of  the  night  before, 
and  the  fumes  of  the  whiskey  on  his  empty 
stomach,  drew  him  unconsciously  into  a  dull 
stupor,  so  that  the  paper  fan  slipped  from  his 
hand,  and  he  sank  back  on  the  bedding  into  a 
heavy  sleep.  When  he  awoke  it  was  nearly 
dusk  and  past  six  o'clock,  as  he  knew  by  the 
newsboys  calling  the  sporting  extras  on  the 
street  below.  He  sprang  up,  cursing  himself, 
and  filled  with  bitter  remorse. 

"I'm   a  drunken  fool,  that's  what  I  am," 


ME.   RAEGEN.  91 

said  Rags,  savagely.  "I've  let  her  lie  here  all 
day  in  the  heat  with  no  one  to  watch  her." 
Margaret  was  breathing  so  softly  that  he 
could  hardly  discern  any  life  at  all,  and  his 
heart  almost  stopped  with  fear.  He  picked 
her  up  and  fanned  and  patted  her  into  wake- 
fulness  again  and  then  turned  desperately  to 
the  window  and  looked  down.  There  was 
no  one  he  knew  or  who  knew  him  as  far  as 
he  could  tell  on  the  street,  and  he  determined 
recklessly  to  risk  another  sortie  for  food. 

"  Why,  it's  been  near  two  days  that  child's 
gone  without  eating,"  he  said,  with  keen  self- 
reproach,  "  and  here  you've  let  her  suffer  to 
save  yourself  a  trip  to  the  Island.  You're  a 
hulking  big  loafer,  you  are,"  he  ran  on,  mut 
tering,  "and  after  her  coming  to  you  and 
taking  notice  of  you  and  putting  her  face  to 
yours  like  an  angel."  He  slipped  off  his 
shoes  and  picked  his  way  cautiously  down 
the  stairs. 

As  he  reached  the  top  of  the  first  flight  a 
newsboy  passed,  calling  the  evening  papers, 
and  shouted  something  which  Rags  could  not 
distinguish.  He  wished  he  could  get  a  copy 
of  the  paper.  It  might  tell  him,  he  thought, 
something  about  himself.  The  boy  was  com- 


92  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FEIEND, 

ing  nearer,  and  Rags  stopped  and  leaned  for 
ward  to  listen. 

"  Extry  !  Extry !  "  shouted  the  newsboy, 
running.  "  Sun,  World,  and  Mail.  Full  ac 
count  of  the  murder  of  Pike  McGonegal  by 
Ragsey  Raegen." 

The  lights  in  the  street  seemed  to  flash  up 
suddenly  and  grow  dim  again,  leaving  Rags 
blind  and  dizzy. 

"  Stop,"  he  yelled,  "  stop.  Murdered,  no, 
by  God,  no,"  he  cried,  staggering  half-way 
down  the  stairs  ;  "  stop,  stop  !  "  But  no  one 
heard  Rags,  and  the  sound  of  his  own  voice 
halted  him.  He  sank  back  weak  and  sick 
upon  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  and  beat  his 
hands  together  upon  his  head. 

"  It's  a  lie,  it's  a  lie,"  he  whispered,  thickly. 
"  I  struck  him  in  self-defence,  s'help  me.  I 
struck  him  in  self-defence.  He  drove  me  to 
it.  He  pulled  his  gun  on  me.  I  done  it  in 
self-defence." 

And  then  the  whole  appearance  of  the 
young  tough  changed,  and  the  terror  and 
horror  that  had  showed  on  his  face  turned  to 
one  of  low  sharpness  and  evil  cunning.  His 
lips  drew  together  tightly  and  he  breathed 
quickly  through  his  nostrils,  while  his  fingers 


MR.  KAEGEN.  93 

locked  and  unlocked  around  his  knees.  All 
that  he  had  learned  on  the  streets  and  wharves 
and  roof-tops,  all  that  pitiable  experience  and 
dangerous  knowledge  that  had  made  him  a 
leader  and  a  hero  among  the  thieves  and  bul 
lies  of  the  river-front  he  called  to  his  assist 
ance  now.  He  faced  the  fact  flatly  and 
with  the  cool  consideration  of  an  uninterested 
counsellor.  He  knew  that  the  history  of  his 
life  was  written  on  Police  Court  blotters  from 
the  day  that  he  was  ten  years  old,  and  with 
pitiless  detail ;  that  what  friends  he  had  he 
held  more  by  fear  than  by  affection,  and  that 
his  enemies,  who  were  many,  only  wanted 
just  such  a  chance  as  this  to  revenge  injuries 
long  suffered  and  bitterly  cherished,  and  that 
his  only  safety  lay  in  secret  and  instant  flight. 
The  ferries  were  watched,  of  course ;  he 
knew  that  the  depots,  too,  were  covered  by 
the  men  whose  only  duty  was  to  watch  the 
coming  and  to  halt  the  departing  criminal. 
But  he  knew  of  one  old  man  who  was  too 
wise  to  ask  questions  and  who  would  row 
him  over  the  East  River  to  Astoria,  and  of 
another  on  the  west  side  whose  boat  was 
always  at  the  disposal  of  silent  white-faced 
young  men  who  might  come  at  any  hour  of 


94  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FEIEND, 

the  niglit  or  morning,  and  whom  he  would 
pilot  across  to  the  Jersey  shore  and  keep  well 
away  from  the  lights  of  the  passing  ferries 
and  the  green  lamp  of  the  police  boat.  And 
once  across,  he  had  only  to  change  his  name 
and  write  for  money  to  be  forwarded  to  that 
name,  and  turn  to  work  until  the  thing  was 
covered  up  and  forgotten.  He  rose  to  his 
feet  in  his  full  strength  again,  and  intensely 
and  agreeably  excited  with  the  danger,  and 
possibly  fatal  termination,  of  his  adventure, 
and  then  there  fell  upon  him,  with  the  sud 
denness  of  a  blow,  the  remembrance  of  the 
little  child  lying  on  the  dirty  bedding  in  the 
room  above. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  muttered  fiercely;  "I 
can't  do  it,"  he  cried,  as  if  he  argued  with 
some  other  presence.  "There's  a  rope  around 
me  neck,  and  the  chances  are  all  against  me ; 
it's  every  man  for  himself  and  no  favor." 
He  threw  his  arms  out  before  him  as  if  to 
push  the  thought  away  from  him  and  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  hair  and  over  his  face. 
All  of  his  old  self  rose  in  him  and  mocked 
him  for  a  weak  fool,  and  showed  him  just 
how  great  his  personal  danger  was,  and  so  he 
turned  and  dashed  forward  on  a  run,  not 


ME.  EAEGEN.  95 

only  to  the  street,  but  as  if  to  escape  from 
the  other  self  that  held  him  back.  He  was 
still  without  his  shoes,  and  in  his  bare  feet, 
and  he  stopped  as  he  noticed  this  and  turned 
to  go  up  stairs  for  them,  and  then  he  pic 
tured  to  himself  the  baby  lying  as  he  had  left 
her,  weakly  unconscious  and  with  dark  rims 
around  her  eyes,  and  he  asked  himself  excit 
edly  what  he  would  do,  if,  on  his  return,  she 
should  wake  and  smile  and  reach  out  her 
hands  to  him. 

"  I  don't  dare  go  back,"  he  said,  breathlessly. 
"  I  don't  dare  do  it ;  killing's  too  good  for  the 
likes  of  Pike  McGonegal,  but  I'm  not  fight 
ing  babies.  An'  maybe,  if  I  went  back,  maybe 
I  wouldn't  have  the  nerve  to  leave  her;  I 
can't  do  it,"  he  muttered,  "I  don't  dare  go 
back."  But  still  he  did  not  stir,  but  stood 
motionless,  with  one  hand  trembling  on  the 
stair-rail  and  the  other  clenched  beside  him, 
and  so  fought  it  on  alone  in  the  silence  of  the 
empty  building. 

The  lights  in  the  stores  below  came  out 
one  by  one,  and  the  minutes  passed  into  half- 
hours,  and  still  he  stood  there  with  the  noise 
of  the  streets  coming  up  to  him  below  speak 
ing  of  escape  and  of  a  long  life  of  ill-regulated 


96  MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

pleasures,  and  up  above  him  the  baby  lay  in 
the  darkness  and  reached  out  her  hands  to 
him  in  her  sleep. 

The  surly  old  sergeant  of  the  Twenty-first 
Precinct  station-house  had  read  the  evening 
papers  through  for  the  third  time  and  was 
dozing  in  the  fierce  lights  of  the  gas-jet  over 
the  high  desk  when  a  young  man  with  a  white, 
haggard  face  came  in  from  the  street  with  a 
baby  in  his  arms. 

"I  want  to  see  the  woman  thet  look  after 
the  station-house  —  quick,"  he  said. 

The  surly  old  sergeant  did  not  like  the  per 
emptory  tone  of  the  young  man  nor  his  gen 
eral  appearance,  for  he  had  no  hat,  nor  coat, 
and  his  feet  were  bare ;  so  he  said,  with  de 
liberate  dignity,  that  the  char-woman  was  up 
stairs  lying  down,  and  what  did  the  young  man 
want  with  her  ?  "  This  child,"  said  the  vis 
itor,  in  a  queer  thick  voice,  "  she's  sick.  The 
heat's  come  over  her,  and  she  ain't  had  any 
thing  to  eat  for  two  days,  an'  she's  starving. 
Ring  the  bell  for  the  matron,  will  yer,  and 
send  one  of  your  men  around  for  the  house 
surgeon."  The  sergeant  leaned  forward  com 
fortably  on  his  elbows,  with  his  hands  under 


ME.  EAEGEN.  97 

his  chin  so  that  the  gold  lace  on  his  cuffs 
shone  effectively  in  the  gaslight.  He  believed 
he  had  a  sense  of  humor  and  he  chose  this 
unfortunate  moment  to  exhibit  it. 

"  Did  you  take  this  for  a  dispensary,  young 
man?"  he  asked;  "or,"  he  continued,  with 
added  facetiousness,  "  a  foundling  hospital  ?  " 

The  young  man  made  a  savage  spring 
at  the  barrier  in  front  of  the  high  desk. 
"  Damn  you,"  he  panted,  "  ring  that  bell,  do 
you  hear  me,  or  I'll  pull  you  off  that  seat  and 
twist  your  heart  out." 

The  baby  cried  at  this  sudden  outburst, 
and  Rags  fell  back,  patting  it  with  his  hand 
and  muttering  between  his  closed  teeth.  The 
sergeant  called  to  the  men  of  the  reserve  squad 
in  the  reading-room  beyond,  and  to  humor 
this  desperate  visitor,  sounded  the  gong  for 
the  janitress.  The  reserve  squad  trooped  in 
leisurely  with  the  playing-cards  in  their  hands 
and  with  their  pipes  in  their  mouths. 

"  This  man,"  growled  the  sergeant,  point 
ing  with  the  end  of  his  cigar  to  Rags,  "is 
either  drunk,  or  crazy,  or  a  bit  of  both." 

The  char-woman  came  down  stairs  majesti 
cally,  in  a  long,  loose  wrapper,  fanning  herself 
with  a  palm-leaf  fan,  but  when  she  saw  the 


98  MY  DISEEPUTABLE  FRIEND, 

child,  her  majesty  dropped  from  her  like  a 
cloak,  and  she  ran  toward  her  and  caught  the 
baby  up  in  her  arms.  "  You  poor  little  thing," 
she  murmured,  "and,  oh,  how  beautiful!" 
Then  she  whirled  about  on  the  men  of  the 
reserve  squad :  "  You,  Connors,"  she  said, 
"run  up  to  my  room  and  get  the  milk  out 
of  my  ice-chest ;  and  Moore,  put  on  your  coat 
and  go  around  and  tell  the  surgeon  I  want 
to  see  him.  And  one  of  you  crack  some  ice 
up  fine  in  a  towel.  Take  it  out  of  the  cooler. 
Quick,  now." 

Raegen  came  up  to  her  fearfully.  "  Is  she 
very  sick?"  he  begged;  "she  ain't  going  to 
die,  is  she  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  woman,  promptly, 
"  but  she's  down  with  the  heat,  and  she  hasn't 
been  properly  cared  for ;  the  child  looks  half- 
starved.  Are  you  her  father  ? "  she  asked, 
sharply.  But  Rags  did  not  speak,  for  at 
the  moment  she  had  answered  his  question 
and  had  said  the  baby  would  not  die,  he  had 
reached  out  swiftly,  and  taken  the  child  out 
of  her  arms  and  held  it  hard  against  his  breast, 
as  though  he  had  lost  her  .and  some  one  had 
been  just  giving  her  back  to  him. 

His  head  was  bending  over  hers,  and  so  he 


MB.   EAEGEN.  99 

did  not  see  Wade  and  Heffner,  the  two  ward 
detectives,  as  they  came  in  from  the  street, 
looking  hot,  and  tired,  and  anxious.  They 
gave  a  careless  glance  at  the  group,  and  then 
stopped  with  a  start,  and  one  of  them  gave  a 
long,  low  whistle.  - 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Wade,  with  a  gasp  of 
surprise  and  relief.  "  So  Raegen,  you're  here, 
after  all,  are  you  ?  Well,  you  did  give  us  a 
chase,  you  did.  Who  took  you  ?  " 

The  men  of  the  reserve  squad,  when  they 
heard  the  name  of  the  man  for  whom  the 
whole  force  had  been  looking  for  the  past 
two  days,  shifted  their  positions  slightly,  and 
looked  curiously  at  Rags,  and  the  woman 
stopped  pouring  out  the  milk  from  the  bot 
tle  in  her  hand,  and  stared  at  him  in  frank 
astonishment.  Raegen  threw  back  his  head 
and  shoulders,  and  ran  his  eyes  coldly  over 
the  faces  of  the  semicircle  of  men  around  him. 

"  Who  took  me  ?  "  he  began,  defiantly,  with 
a  swagger  of  braggadocio,  and  then,  as  though 
it  were  hardly  worth  while,  and  as  though  the 
presence  of  the  baby  lifted  him  above  every 
thing  else,  he  stopped,  and  raised  her  until 
her  cheek  touched  his  own.  It  rested  there 
a  moment,  while  Rags  stood  silent. 


100         MY  DISREPUTABLE  FRIEND. 

"Who  took  me?"  he  repeated,  quietly,  and 
without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  baby's  face. 
"Nobody  took  me,"  he  said.  "I  gave  my 
self  up." 

One  morning,  three  months  later,  when 
Raegen  had  stopped  his  ice-cart  in  front  of 
my  door,  I  asked  him  whether  at  any  time  he 
had  ever  regretted  what  he  had  done. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  with  easy  superiority, 
"seeing  that  I've  shook  the  gang,  and  that 
the  Society's  decided  her  folks  ain't  fit  to 
take  care  of  her,  we  can't  help  thinking  we 
are  better  off,  see  ? 

"But,  as  for  my  ever  regretting  it,  why, 
even  when  things  was  at  the  worst,  when  the 
case  was  going  dead  against  me,  and  before 
that  cop,  you  remember,  swore  to  McGone- 
gal's  drawing  the  pistol,  and  when  I  used  to 
sit  in  the  Tombs  expecting  I'd  have  to  hang 
for  it,  well,  even  then,  they  used  to  bring 
her  to  see  me  every  day,  and  when  they'd 
lift  her  up,  and  she'd  reach  out  her  hands 
and  kiss  me  through  the  bars,  why — they 
could  have  took  me  out  and  hung  me,  and 
been  damned  to  'em,  for  all  I'd  have  cared." 


THE   OTHER   WOMAN. 


YOUNG  LATIMER  stood  on  one  of  the  lower 
steps  of  the  hall  stairs,  leaning  with  one  hand 
on  the  broad  railing  and  smiling  down  at  her. 
She  had  followed  him  from  the  drawing-room 
and  had  stopped  at  the  entrance,  drawing 
the  curtains  behind  her,  and  making,  uncon 
sciously,  a  dark  background  for  her  head  and 
figure.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  her 
look  more  beautiful,  nor  that  cold,  fine  air  of 
thorough  breeding  about  her  which  was  her 
greatest  beauty  to  him,  more  strongly  in  evi 
dence. 

"  Well,  sir,"  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  go?  " 

He  shifted  his  position  slightly  and  leaned 
more  comfortably  upon  the  railing,  as  though 
he  intended  to  discuss  it  with  her  at  some 
length. 

"  How  can  I  go,"  he  said,  argumentatively, 
"with  you  standing  there  —  looking  like 
that?" 

101 


102  THE  OTHER    WOMAN. 

"I  really  believe,"  the  girl  said,  slowly, 
"  that  he  is  afraid ;  yes,  he  is  afraid.  And 
you  always  said,"  she  added,  turning  to  him, 
"you  were  so  brave." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  I  never  said  that,"  ex 
claimed  the  young  man,  calmly.  "  I  may  be 
brave,  in  fact  I  am  quite  brave,  but  I  never 
said  I  was.  Some  one  must  have  told  you." 

"  Yes,  he  is  afraid,"  she  said,  nodding  her 
head  to  the  tall  clock  across  the  hall,  "he  is 
temporizing  and  trying  to  save  time.  And 
afraid  of  a  man,  too,  and  such  a  good  man 
who  would  not  hurt  any  one." 

"  You  know  a  bishop  is  always  a  very  diffi 
cult  sort  of  a  person,"  he  said,  "  and  when  he 
happens  to  be  your  father,  the  combination  is 
just  a  bit  awful.  Isn't  it  now?  And  espe 
cially  when  one  means  to  ask  him  for  his 
daughter.  You  know  it  isn't  like  asking 
him  to  let  one  smoke  in  his  study." 

"  If  I  loved  a  girl,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  and  smiling  up  at  him,  "  I  wouldn't  be 
afraid  of  the  whole  world ;  that's  what  they 
say  in  books,  isn't  it?  I  would  be  so  bold 
and  happy »" 

"Oh,  well,  I'm  bold  enough,"  said  the 
young  man,  easily;  "if  I  had  not  been,  I 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  103 

never  would  have  asked  you  to  marry  me ; 
and  I'm  happy  enough  —  that's  because  I  did 
ask  you.  But  what  if  he  says  no,"  continued 
the  youth ;  "  what  if  he  says  he  has  greater 
ambitions  for  you,  just  as  they  say  in  books, 
too.  What  will  you  do  ?  Will  you  run  away 
with  me  ?  I  can  borrow  a  coach  just  as  they 
used  to  do,  and  we  can  drive  off  through  the 
Park  and  be  married,  and  come  back  and  ask 
his  blessing  on  our  knees  —  unless  he  should 
overtake  us  on  the  elevated." 

"  That," said  the  girl,  decidedly,  "is  flippant, 
and  I'm  going  to  leave  you.  I  never  thought 
to  marry  a  man  who  would  be  frightened  at 
the  very  first.  I  am  greatly  disappointed." 

She  stepped  back  into  the  drawing-room 
and  pulled  the  curtains  to  behind  her,  and 
then  opened  them  again  and  whispered, 
"  Please  don't  be  long,"  and  disappeared.  He 
waited,  smiling,  to  see  if  she  would  make 
another  appearance,  but  she  did  not,  and  he 
heard  her  touch  the  keys  of  the  piano  at  the 
other  end  of  the  drawing-room.  And  so, 
still  smiling  and  with  her  last  words  sounding 
in  his  ears,  he  walked  slowly  up  the  stairs  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  bishop's  study. 
The  bishop's  room  was  not  ecclesiastic  in  its 


104  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

character.  It  looked  much  like  the  room  of 
any  man  of  any  calling  who  cared  for  his  books 
and  to  have  pictures  about  him,  and  copies  of 
the  beautiful  things  he  had  seen  on  his  trav 
els.  There  were  pictures  of  the  Virgin  and 
the  Child,  but  they  were  those  that  are  seen 
in  almost  any  house,  and  there  were  etchings 
and  plaster  casts,  and  there  were  hundreds  of 
books,  and  dark  red  curtains,  and  an  open 
fire  that  lit  up  the  pots  of  brass  with  ferns  in 
them,  and  the  blue  and  white  plaques  on  the 
top  of  the  bookcase.  The  bishop  sat  before 
his  writing-table,  with  one  hand  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  light  of  a  red-covered  lamp, 
and  looked  up  and  smiled  pleasantly  and 
nodded  as  the  young  man  entered.  He  had 
a  very  strong  face,  with  white  hair  hanging  at 
the  side,  but  was  still  a  young  man  for  one 
in  such  a  high  office.  He  was  a  man  inter 
ested  in  many  things,  who  could  talk  to  men 
of  any  profession  or  to  the  mere  man  of 
pleasure,  and  could  interest  them  in  what  he 
said,  and  force  their  respect  and  liking.  And 
he  was  very  good,  and  had,  they  said,  seen 
much  trouble. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  interrupted  you,"  said  the 
young  man,  tentatively. 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  105 

"No,  I  have  interrupted  myself,"  replied 
the  bishop.  "  I  don't  seem  to  make  this  clear 
to  myself,"  he  said,  touching  the  paper  in 
front  of  him,  "  and  so  I  very  much  doubt  if 
I  am  going  to  make  it  clear  to  any  one  else. 
However,"  he  added,  smiling,  as  he  pushed 
the  manuscript  to  one  side,  "  we  are  not  go 
ing  to  talk  about  that  now.  What  have  you 
to  tell  me  that  is  new  ?  " 

The  younger  man  glanced  up  quickly  at 
this,  but  the  bishop's  face  showed  that  his 
words  had  had  no  ulterior  meaning,  and  that 
he  suspected  nothing  more  serious  to  come 
than  the  gossip  of  the  clubs  or  a  report  of  the 
local  political  fight  in  which  he  was  keenly 
interested,  or  on  their  mission  on  the  East 
Side.  But  it  seemed  an  opportunity  to 
Latimer. 

"  I  have  something  new  to  tell  you,"  he  said, 
gravely,  and  with  his  eyes  turned  toward 
the  open  fire,  "  and  I  don't  know  how  to 
do  it  exactly.  I  mean  I  don't  just  know  how 
it  is  generally  done  or  how  to  tell  it  best." 
He  hesitated  and  leaned  forward,  with  his 
hands  locked  in  front  of  him,  and  his  elbows 
resting  on  his  knees.  He  was  not  in  the 
least  frightened.  The  bishop  had  listened 


106  THE   OTHEE    WOMAN. 

to  many  strange  stories,  to  many  confessions, 
in  this  same  study,  and  had  learned  to  take 
them  as  a  matter  of  course;  but  to-night 
something  in  the*  manner  of  the  young  man 
before  him  made  him  stir  uneasily,  and  he 
waited  for  him  to  disclose  the  object  of  his 
visit  with  some  impatience. 

"  I  will  suppose,  sir,"  said  young  Latimer, 
finally,  "  that  you  know  me  rather  well  —  I 
mean  you  know  who  my  people  are,  and  what 
I  am  doing  here  in  New  York,  and  who  my 
friends  are,  and  what  my  work  amounts  to. 
You  have  let  me  see  a  great  deal  of  you,  and  I 
have  appreciated  your  doing  so  very  much ;  to 
so  young  a  man  as  myself  it  has  been  a  great 
compliment,  and  it  has  been  of  great  benefit 
to  me.  I  know  that  better  than  any  one  else. 
I  say  this  because  unless  you  had  shown  me 
this  confidence  it  would  have  been  almost 
impossible  for  me  to  say  to  you  what  I  am 
going  to  say  now.  But  you  have  allowed 
me  to  come  here  frequently,  and  to  see  you 
and  talk  with  you  here  in  your  study,  and  to 
see  even  more  of  your  daughter.  Of  course, 
sir,  you  did  not  suppose  that  I  came  here  only 
to  see  you.  I  came  here  because  J  found  that 
if  I  did  not  see  Miss  Ellen  for  a  day,  that  that 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  107 

day  was  wasted,  and  that  I  spent  it  uneasily 
and  discontentedly,  and  the  necessity  of  see 
ing  her  even  more  frequently  has  grown  so 
great  that  I  cannot  come  here  as  often  as  I 
seem  to  want  to  come  unless  I  am  engaged 
to  her,  unless  I  come  as  her  husband  that  is 
to  be."  The  young  man  had  been  speaking 
very  slowly  and  picking  his  words,  but  now 
he  raised  his  head  and  ran  on  quickly. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  her  and  told  her  how  I 
love  her,  and  she  has  told  me  that  she  love* 
me,  and  that  if  you  will  not  oppose  us,  wi)l 
marry  me.  That  is  the  news  I  have  to  te)l 
you,  sir.  I  don't  know  but  that  I  might  havs 
told  it  differently,  but  that  is  it.  I  need  not 
urge  on  you  my  position  and  all  that,  because 
I  do  not  think  that  weighs  with  you ;  but  1 
do  tell  you  that  I  love  Ellen  so  dearly  that, 
though  I  am  not  worthy  of  her,  of  course,  I 
have  no  other  pleasure  than  to  give  her  pleas 
ure  and  to  try  and  make  her  happy.  I  have 
the  power  to  do  it ;  but  what  is  much  more, 
I  have  the  wish  to  do  it ;  it  is  all  I  think  of 
now,  and  all  that  I  can  ever  think  of.  What 
she  thinks  of  me  you  must  ask  her ;  but  what 
she  is  to  me  neither  she  can  tell  you  nor  do  I 
believe  that  I  myself  could  make  you  under- 


108  THE   OTHER   WOMAN. 

stand."  The  young  man's  face  was  flushed 
and  eager,  and  as  he  finished  speaking  he 
raised  his  head  and  watched  the  bishop's 
countenance  anxiously.  But  the  older  man's 
face  was  hidden  by  his  hand  as  he  leaned 
with  his  elbow  on  his  writing-table.  His 
other  hand  was  playing  with  a  pen,  and  when 
he  began  to  speak,  which  he  did  after  a  long 
pause,  he  still  turned  it  between  his  fingers 
and  looked  down  at  it. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  as  softly  as  though 
he  were  speaking  to  himself,  "  that  I  should 
have  known  this  ;  I  suppose  that  I  should 
have  been  better  prepared  to  hear  it.  But  it 
is  one  of  those  things  which  men  put  off  —  I 
mean  those  men  who  have  children,  put  off 
—  as  they  do  making  their  wills,  as  something 
that  is  in  the  future  and  that  may  be  shirked 
until  it  comes.  We  seem  to  think  that  our 
daughters  will  live  with  us  always,  just  as 
we  expect  to  live  on  ourselves  until  death 
comes  one  day  and  startles  us  and  finds  us 
unprepared."  He  took  down  his  hand  and 
smiled  gravely  at  the  younger  man  with  an 
evident  effort,  and  said,  "  I  did  not  mean  to 
speak  so  gloomily,  but  you  see  my  point  of 
view  must  be  different  from  yours.  And  she 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  109 

says  she  loves  you,  does  she?"  he  added, 
gently. 

Young  Latimer  bowed  his  head  and  mur 
mured  something  inarticulately  in  reply,  and 
then  held  his  head  erect  again  and  waited, 
still  watching  the  bishop's  face. 

"  I  think  she  might  have  told  me,"  said  the 
older  man ;  "  but  then  I  suppose  this  is  the 
better  way.  I  am  young  enough  to  under 
stand  that  the  old  order  changes,  that  the 
customs  of  my  father's  time  differ  from  those 
of  to-day.  And  there  is  no  alternative,  I 
suppose,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  am 
stopped  and  told  to  deliver,  and  have  no 
choice.  I  will  get  used  to  it  in  time,"  he  went 
on,  "but  it  seems  very  hard  now.  Fathers 
are  selfish,  I  imagine,  but  she  is  all  I  have." 

Young  Latimer  looked  gravely  into  the  fire 
and  wondered  how  long  it  would  last.  He 
could  just  hear  the  piano  from  below,  and  he 
was  anxious  to  return  to  her.  And  at  the 
same  time  he  was  drawn  toward  the  older  man 
before  him,  and  felt  rather  guilty,  as  though 
he  really  were  robbing  him.  But  at  the  bish 
op's  next  words  he  gave  up  any  thought  of 
a  speedy  release,  and  settled  himself  in  his 
chair. 


110  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

"  We  are  still  to  have  a  long  talk,"  said  the 
bishop.  "  There  are  many  things  I  must 
know,  and  of  which  I  am  sure  you  will  inform 
me  freely.  I  believe  there  are  some  who  con 
sider  me  hard,  and  even  narrow  on  different 
points,  but  I  do  not  think  you  will  find  me  so, 
at  least  let  us  hope  not.  I  must  confess  that 
for  a  moment  I  almost  hoped  that  you  might 
not  be  able  to  answer  the  questions  I  must 
ask  you,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  I 
am  only  too  sure  you  will  not  be  found 
wanting,  and  that  the  conclusion  of  our  talk 
will  satisfy  us  both.  Yes,  I  am  confident  of 
that." 

His  manner  changed,  nevertheless,  and  Lat- 
imer  saw  that  he  was  now  facing  a  judge  and 
not  a  plaintiff  who  had  been  robbed,  and  that 
he  was  in  turn  the  defendant.  And  still  he 
was  in  no  way  frightened. 

"  I  like  you,"  the  bishop  said,  "  I  like  you 
very  much.  As  you  say  yourself,  I  have  seen 
a  great  deal  of  you,  because  I  have  enjoyed 
your  society,  and  your  views  and  talk  were 
good  and  young  and  fresh,  and  did  me  good. 
You  have  served  to  keep  me  in  touch  with 
the  outside  world,  a  world  of  which  I  used  to 
know  at  one  time  a  great  deal.  I  know  your 


THE    OTHER    WOMAN.  Ill 

people  and  I  know  you,  I  think,  and  many 
people  have  spoken  to  me  of  you.  I  see  why 
now.  They,  no  doubt,  understood  what  was 
coming  better  than  myself,  and  were  meaning 
to  reassure  me  concerning  you.  And  they 
said  nothing  but  what  was  good  of  you.  But 
there  are  certain  things  of  which  no  one  can 
know  but  yourself,  and  concerning  which  no 
other  person,  save  myself,  has  a  right  to  ques 
tion  you.  You  have  promised  very  fairly  for 
my  daughter's  future;  you  have  suggested 
more  than  you  have  said,  but  I  understood. 
You  can  give  her  many  pleasures  which  I  have 
not  been  able  to  afford ;  she  can  get  from  you 
the  means  of  seeing  more  of  this  world  in 
which  she  lives,  of  meeting  more  people,  and 
of  indulging  in  her  charities,  or  in  her  ex 
travagances,  for  that  matter,  as  she  wishes. 
I  have  no  fear  of  her  bodily  comfort;  her 
life,  as  far  as  that  is  concerned,  will  be  easier 
and  broader,  and  with  more  power  for  good. 
Her  future,  as  I  say,  as  you  say  also,  is  as 
sured  ;  but  I  want  to  ask  you  this,"  the  bishop 
leaned  forward  and  watched  the  young  man 
anxiously,  "  you  can  protect  her  in  the  future, 
but  can  you  assure  me  that  you  can  protect 
her  from  the  past  ?  " 


112  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

Young  Latimer  raised  his  eyes  calmly  and 
said,  "  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand." 

"  I  have  perfect  confidence,  I  say,"  returned 
the  bishop,  "  in  you  as  far  as  your  treatment 
of  Ellen  is  concerned  in  the  future.  You 
love  her  and  you  would  do  everything  to 
make  the  life  of  the  woman  you  love  a  happy 
one ;  but  this  is  it,  Can  you  assure  me  that 
there  is  nothing  in  the  past  that  may  reach 
forward  later  and  touch  my  daughter  through 
you  —  no  ugly  story,  no  oats  that  have  been 
sowed,  and  no  boomerang  that  you  have 
thrown  wantonly  and  that  has  not  returned  — 
but  which  may  return  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  understand  you  now,  sir,"  said 
the  young  man,  quietly.  "  I  have  lived,"  he 
began,  "  as  other  men  of  my  sort  have  lived. 
You  know  what  that  is,  for  you  must  have 
seen  it  about  you  at  college,  and  after  that 
before  you  entered  the  Church.  I  judge  so 
from  your  friends,  who  were  your  friends 
then,  I  understand.  You  know  how  they 
lived.  I  never  went  in  for  dissipation,  if  you 
mean  that,  because  it  never  attracted  me.  I 
am  afraid  I  kept  out  of  it  not  so  much  out  of 
respect  for  others  as  for  respect  for  myself. 
I  found  my  self-respect  was  a  very  good  thing 


THE    OTHER    WOMAN.  113 

to  keep,  and  I  rather  preferred  keeping  it  and 
losing  several  pleasures  that  other  men  man 
aged  to  enjoy,  apparently  with  free  con 
sciences.  I  confess  I  used  to  rather  envy 
them.  It  is  no  particular  virtue  on  my  part ; 
the  thing  struck  me  as  rather  more  vulgar 
than  wicked,  and  so  I  have  had  no  wild  oats 
to  speak  of;  and  no  woman,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,  can  write  an  anonymous  letter,  and 
no  man  can  tell  you  a  story  about  me  that  he 
could  not  tell  in  my  presence." 

There  was  something  in  the  way  the  young 
man  spoke  which  would  have  amply  satisfied 
the  outsider,  had  he  been  present;  but  the 
bishop's  eyes  were  still  unrelaxed  and  anxious. 
He  made  an  impatient  motion  with  his  hand. 

"  I  know  you  too  well,  I  hope,"  he  said, 
"  to  think  of  doubting  your  attitude  in  that 
particular.  I  know  you  are  a  gentleman, 
that  is  enough  for  that;  but  there  is  some 
thing  beyond  these  more  common  evils.  You 
see,  I  am  terribly  in  earnest  over  this  — you 
may  think  unjustly  so,  considering  how  well 
I  know  you,  but  this  child  is  my  only  child. 
If  her  mother  had  lived,  my  responsibility 
would  have  been  less  great ;  but,  as  it  is,  God 
has  left  her  here  alone  to  me  in  my  hands.  I 


114  THE    OTHER    WOMAN. 

do  not  think  He  intended  my  duty  should  end 
when  I  had  fed  and  clothed  her,  and  taught 
her  to  read  and  write.  I  do  not  think  He 
meant  that  I  should  only  act  as  her  guardian 
until  the  first  man  she  fancied  fancied  her. 
I  must  look  to  her  happiness  not  only  now 
when  she  is  with  me,  but  I  must  assure  my 
self  of  it  when  she  leaves  my  roof.  These 
common  sins  of  youth  I  acquit  you  of.  Such 
things  are  beneath  you,  I  believe,  and  I  did 
not  even  consider  them.  But  there  are  other 
toils  in  which  men  become  involved,  other 
evils  or  misfortunes  which  exist,  and  which 
threaten  all  men  who  are  young  and  free  and 
attractive  in  many  ways  to  women,  as  well  as 
men.  You  have  lived  the  life  of  the  young 
man  of  this  day.  You  have  reached  a  place 
in  your  profession  when  you  can  afford  to 
rest  and  marry  and  assume  the  responsibilities 
of  marriage.  You  look  forward  to  a  life  of 
content  and  peace  and  honorable  ambition  — 
a  life,  with  your  wife  at  your  side,  which  is  to 
last  forty  or  fifty  years.  You  consider  where 
you  will  be  twenty  years  from  now,  at  what 
point  of  your  career  you  may  become  a  judge 
or  give  up  practice  ;  your  perspective  is  un 
limited;  you  even  think  of  the  college  to 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  115 

wliich  you  may  send  your  son.  It  is  a  long, 
quiet  future  that  you  are  looking  forward  to, 
and  you  choose  my  daughter  as  the  companion 
for  that  future,  as  the  one  woman  with  whom 
you  could  live  content  for  that  length  of 
time.  And  it  is  in  that  spirit  that  you  come 
to  me  to-night  and  that  you  ask  me  for  my 
daughter.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  one 
question,  and  as  you  answer  that  I  will  tell 
you  whether  or  not  you  can  have  Ellen  for 
your  wife.  You  look  forward,  as  I  say,  to 
many  years  of  life,  and  you  have  chosen  her 
as  best  suited  to  live  that  period  with  you ; 
but  I  ask  you  this,  and  I  demand  that  you 
answer  me  truthfully,  and  that  you  remember 
that  you  are  speaking  to  her  father.  Imagine 
that  1  had  the  power  to  tell  you,  or  rather 
that  some  superhuman  agent  could  convince 
you,  that  you  had  but  a  month  to  live,  and 
that  for  what  you  did  in  that  month  you 
would  not  be  held  responsible  either  by  any 
moral  law  or  any  law  made  by  man,  and  that 
your  life  hereafter  would  not  be  influenced 
by  your  conduct  in  that  month,  would  you 
spend  it,  I  ask  you  —  and  on  your  answer  de 
pends  mine  —  would  you  spend  those  thirty 
days,  with  death  at  the  end,  with  my  daugh- 


116  THE   OTHER   WOMAN. 

ter,  or  with  some  other  woman  of  whom  I 
know  nothing  ?  " 

Latimer  sat  for  some  time  silent,  until 
indeed,  his  silence  assumed  such  a  significance 
that  he  raised  his  head  impatiently  and  said 
with  a  motion  of  the  hand,  "  I  mean  to  answer 
you  in  a  minute;  I  want  to  be  sure  that  I 
understand." 

The  bishop  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  and 
for  a  still  longer  period  the  men  sat  motion 
less.  The  clock  in  the  corner  seemed  to  tick 
more  loudly,  and  the  dead  coals  dropping  in 
the  grate  had  a  sharp,  aggressive  sound.  The 
notes  of  the  piano  that  had  risen  from  the 
room  below  had  ceased. 

"  If  I  understand  you,"  said  Latimer,  finally, 
and  his  voice  and  his  face  as  he  raised  it  were 
hard  and  aggressive,  "  you  are  stating  a  purely 
hypothetical  case.  You  wish  to  try  me  by 
conditions  which  do  not  exist,  which  cannot 
exist.  What  justice  is  there,  what  right  is 
there,  in  asking  me  to  say  how  I  would  act 
under  circumstances  which  are  impossible, 
which  lie  beyond  the  limit  of  human  experi 
ence?  You  cannot  judge  a  man  by  what  he 
would  do  if  he  were  suddenly  robbed  of  all  his 
mental  and  moral  training  and  of  the  habit 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  117 

of  years.  I  am  not  admitting,  understand 
me,  that  if  the  conditions  which  you  suggest 
did  exist  that  I  would  do  one  whit  differently 
from  what  I  will  do  if  they  remain  as  they 
are.  I  am  merely  denying  your  right  to  put 
such  a  question  to  me  at  all.  You  might 
just  as  well  judge  the  shipwrecked  sailors  on 
a  raft  who  eat  each  other's  flesh  as  you  would 
judge  a  sane,  healthy  man  who  did  such  a 
thing  in  his  own  home.  Are  you  going  to 
condemn  men  who  are  ice-locked  at  the  North 
Pole,  or  buried  in  the  heart  of  Africa,  and 
who  have  given  up  all  thought  of  return  and 
are  half  mad  and  wholly  without  hope,  as 
you  would  judge  ourselves  ?  Are  they  to  be 
weighed  and  balanced  as  you  and  I  are,  sit 
ting  here  within  the  sound  of  the  cabs  out 
side  and  with  a  bake-shop  around  the  corner? 
What  you  propose  could  not  exist,  could 
never  happen.  I  could  never  be  placed  where 
I  should  have  to  make  such  a  choice,  and  you 
have  no  right  to  ask  me  what  I  would  do  or 
how  I  would  act  under  conditions  that  are 
superhuman  —  you  used  the  word  yourself  — 
where  all  that  I  have  held  to  be  good  and  just 
and  true  would  be  obliterated.  I  would  be 
unworthy  of  myself,  I  would  be  unworthy  of 


118  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

your  daughter,  if  I  considered  such  a  state  of 
•things  for  a  moment,  or  if  I  placed  my  hopes 
of  marrying  her  on  the  outcome  of  such  a  test, 
and  so,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  throwing 
back  his  head,  "I  must  refuse  to  answer  you." 

The  bishop  lowered  his  hand  from  before 
his  eyes  and  sank  back  wearily  into  his  chair. 
"  You  have  answered  me,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  cried  the 
young  man,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  You  have 
no  right  to  suppose  anything  or  to  draw  any 
conclusions.  I  have  not  answered  you."  He 
stood  with  his  head  and  shoulders  thrown 
back,  and  with  his  hands  resting  on  his  hips 
and  with  the  fingers  working  nervously  at  his 
waist. 

"  What  you  have  said,"  replied  the  bishop, 
in  a  voice  that  had  changed  strangely,  and 
which  was  inexpressibly  sad  and  gentle,  "  is 
merely  a  curtain  of  words  to  cover  up  your 
true  feeling.  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to 
have  said,  4  For  thirty  days  or  for  life  Ellen 
is  the  only  woman  who  has  the  power  to 
make  me  happy.'  You  see  that  would  have 
answered  me  and  satisfied  me.  But  you  did 
did  not  say  that,"  he  added,  quickly,  as  the 
young  man  made  a  movement  as  if  to  speak. 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  119 

"  Well,  and  suppose  this  other  woman  did 
exist,  what  then  ?  "  demanded  Latimer.  "  The 
conditions  you  suggest  are  impossible;  you 
must,  you  will  surely,  sir,  admit  that." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  bishop,  sadly ; 
"  I  do  not  know.  It  may  happen  that  what 
ever  obstacle  there  has  been  which  has  kept 
you  from  her  may  be  removed.  It  may  be 
that  she  has  married,  it  may  be  that  she  has 
fallen  so  low  that  you  cannot  marry  her.  But 
if  you  have  loved  her  once,  you  may  love  her 
again  ;  whatever  it  was  that  separated  you  in 
the  past,  that  separates  you  now,  that  makes 
you  prefer  my  daughter  to  her,  may  come  to 
an  end  when  you  are  married,  when  it  will  be 
too  late,  and  when  only  trouble  can  come  of 
it,  and  Ellen  would  bear  that  trouble.  Can  I 
risk  that?" 

"  But  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible,"  cried  the 
young  man.  "  The  woman  is  beyond  the  love 
of  any  man,  at  least  such  a  man  as  I  am,  or 
try  to  be." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  asked  the  bishop,  gently, 
and  with  an  eager  look  of  hope,  "  that  she  is 
dead?'" 

Latimer  faced  the  father  for  some  seconds 
in  silence.  Then  he  raised  his  head  slowly. 


120  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  mean  she  is  dead. 
No,  she  is  not  dead." 

Again  the  bishop  moved  back  wearily  into 
his  chair.  "  You  mean  then,"  he  said,  "  per 
haps,  that  she  is  a  married  woman?  "  Latimer 
pressed  his  lips  together  at  first  as  though  he 
would  not  answer,  and  then  raised  his  eyes 
coldly.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said. 

The  older  man  had  held  up  his  hand  as  if 
to  signify  that  what  he  was  about  to  say  should 
be  listened  to  without  interruption,  when  a 
sharp  turning  of  the  lock  of  the  door  caused 
both  father  and  the  suitor  to  start.  Then  they 
turned  and  tooked  at  each  other  with  anxious 
inquiry  and  with  much  concern,  for  they  rec 
ognized  for  the  first  time  that  their  voices  had 
been  loud.  The  older  man  stepped  quickly 
across  the  floor,  but  before  he  reached  the 
middle  of  the  room  the  door  opened  from  the 
outside,  and  his  daughter  stood  in  the  door 
way,  with  her  head  held  down  and  her  eyes 
looking  at  the  floor. 

"  Ellen  ! "  exclaimed  the  father,  in  a  voice 
of  pain  and  the  deepest  pity. 

The  girl  moved  toward  the  place  from  where 
his  voice  came,  without  raising  her  eyes,  and 
when  she  reached  him  put  her  arms  about  him 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  121 

and  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  She  moved 
as  though  she  were  tired,  as  though  she  were 
exhausted  by  some  heavy  work. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  bishop,  gently,  "  were 
you  listening  ?  "  There  was  no  reproach  in 
his  voice ;  it  was  simply  full  of  pity  and  con 
cern. 

"  I  thought,"  whispered  the  girl,  brokenly, 
"that  he  would  be  frightened;  I  wanted  to 
hear  what  he  would  say.  I  thought  I  could 
laugh  at  him  for  it  afterward.  I  did  it  for  a 
joke.  I  thought  — "  she  stopped  with  a  little 
gasping  sob  that  she  tried  to  hide,  and  for  a 
moment  held  herself  erect  and  then  sank 
back  again  into  her  father's  arms  with  her 
head  upon  his  breast. 

Latimer  started  forward,  holding  out  his 
arms  to  her.  "  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  surely,  Ellen, 
you  are  not  against  me.  You  see  how  pre 
posterous  it  is,  how  unjust  it  is  to  me.  You 
cannot  mean  —  " 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders  slightly  as  though  she  were  cold. 
"  Father,"  she  said,  wearily,  "  ask  him  to  go 
away.  Why  does  he  stay?  Ask  him  to  go 
away." 

Latimer  stopped  and  took  a  step  back  as 


122  THE   OTHER   WOMAN. 

though  some  one  had  struck  him,  and  then 
stood  silent  with  his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes 
flashing.  It  was  not  in  answer  to  anything 
that  they  said  that  he  spoke,  but  to  their  atti 
tude  and  what  it  suggested.  "  You  stand 
there,"  he  began,  "you  two  stand  there  as 
though  I  were  something  unclean,  as  though 
I  had  committed  some  crime.  You  look  at 
me  as  though  I  were  on  trial  for  murder  or 
worse.  Both  of  you  together  against  me. 
What  have  I  done  ?  What  difference  is  there  ? 
You  loved  me  a  half -hour  ago,  Ellen;  you 
said  you  did.  I  know  you  loved  me ;  and 
you,  sir,"  he  added,  more  quietly,  "treated 
me  like  a  friend.  Has  anything  come  since 
then  to  change  me  or  you?  Be  fair  to  me, 
be  sensible .  What  is  the  use  of  this  ?  It  is 
a  silly,  needless,  horrible  mistake.  You  know 
I  love  you,  Ellen;  love  you  better  than  all 
the  world.  I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that ;  you 
know  it,  you  can  see  and  feel  it.  It  does  not 
need  to  be  said;  words  can't  make  it  any 
truer.  You  have  confused  yourselves  and 
stultified  yourselves  with  this  trick,  this  test 
by  hypothetical  conditions,  by  considering 
what  is  not  real  or  possible.  It  is  simple 
enough;  it  is  plain  enough.  You  know  I 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  123 

love  you,  Ellen,  and  you  only,  and  that  is  all 
there  is  to  it,  and  all  that  there  is  of  any  con 
sequence  in  the  world  to  me.  The  matter 
stops  there  ;  that  is  all  there  is  for  you  to  con 
sider.  Answer  me,  Ellen,  speak  to  me.  Tell 
me  that  you  believe  me." 

He  stopped  and  moved  a  step  toward  her, 
but  as  he  did  so,  the  girl,  still  without  looking 
up,  drew  herself  nearer  to  her  father  and 
shrank  more  closely  into  his  arms;  but  the 
father's  face  was  troubled  and  doubtful,  and 
he  regarded  the  younger  man  with  a  look  of 
the  most  anxious  scrutiny.  Latimer  did  not 
regard  this.  Their  hands  were  raised  against 
him  as  far  as  he  could  understand,  and  he 
broke  forth  again  proudly,  and  with  a  defiant 
indignation  :  — 

"  What  right  have  you  to  judge  me  ?  "  he 
began ;  "  what  do  you  know  of  what  I  have 
suffered,  and  endured,  and  overcome  ?  How 
can  you  know  what  I  have  had  to  give  up 
and  put  away  from  me?  It's  easy  enough 
for  you  to  draw  your  skirts  around  you,  but 
what  can  a  woman  bred  as  you  have  been 
bred  know  of  what  I've  had  to  fight  against 
and  keep  under  and  cut  away?  It  was  an 
easy,  beautiful  idyl  to  you ;  your  love  came 


124  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

to  you  only  when  it  should  have  come,  and 
for  a  man  who  was  good  and  worthy,  and  dis 
tinctly  eligible  —  I  don't  mean  that ;  forgive 
me,  Ellen,  but  you  drive  me  beside  myself. 
But  he  is  good  and  he  believes  himself  worthy, 
and  I  say  that  myself  before  you  both.  But 
I  am  only  worthy  and  only  good  because  of 
that  other  love  that  I  put  away  when  it 
became  a  crime,  when  it  became  impossible. 
Do  you  know  what  it  cost  me?  Do  you 
know  what  it  meant  to  me,  and  what  I  went 
through,  and  how  I  suffered  ?  Do  you  know 
who  this  other  woman  is  whom  you  are  insult 
ing  with  your  doubts  and  guesses  in  the  dark  ? 
Can't  you  spare  her?  Am  I  not  enough? 
Perhaps  it  was  easy  for  her,  too ;  perhaps  her 
silence  cost  her  nothing ;  perhaps  she  did  not 
suffer  and  has  nothing  but  happiness  and  con 
tent  to  look  forward  to  for  the  rest  of  her 
life ;  and  I  tell  you  that  it  is  because  we  did 
put  it  away,  and  kill  it,  and  not  give  way  to 
it  that  I  am  whatever  I  am  to-day ;  whatever 
good  there  is  in  me  is  due  to  that  temptation 
and  to  the  fact  that  I  beat  it  and  overcame  it 
and  kept  myself  honest  and  clean.  And 
when  I  met  you  and  learned  to  know  you  I 
believed  in  my  heart  that  God  had  sent  you 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  125 

to  me  that  I  might  know  what  it  was  to  love 
a  woman  whom  I  could  marry  and  who  could 
be  my  wife;  that  you  were  the  reward  for 
my  having  overcome  temptation  and  the  sign 
that  I  had  done  well.  And  now  you  throw 
me  over  and  put  me  aside  as  though  I  were 
something  low  and  unworthy,  because  of  this 
temptation,  because  of  this  very  thing  that 
has  made  me  know  myself  and  my  own 
strength  and  that  has  kept  me  up  for  you." 

As  the  young  man  had  been  speaking,  the 
bishop's  eyes  had  never  left  his  face,  and  as 
he  finished,  the  face  of  the  priest  grew  clearer 
and  decided,  and  calmly  exultant.  And  as 
Latimer  ceased  he  bent  his  head  above  his 
daughter's,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  speak  with  more  than  human  inspiration. 
"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  if  God  had  given  me 
a  son  I  should  have  been  proud  if  he  could 
have  spoken  as  this  young  man  has  done." 

But  the  woman  only  said,  "  Let  him  go  to 
her." 

"  Ellen,  oh,  Ellen  i "  cried  the  father. 

He  drew  back  from  the  girl  in  his  arms 
and  looked  anxiously  and  feelingly  at  her 
lover.  "How  could  you,  Ellen,"  he  said, 
"  how  could  you  ?  "  He  was  watching  the 


126  THE   OTHER    WOMAN. 

young  man's  face  with  eyes  full  of  sympathy 
and  concern.  "  How  little  you  know  him," 
he  said,  "how  little  you  understand.  He 
will  not  do  that,"  he  added  quickly,  but 
looking  questioningly  at  Latimer  and  speak 
ing  in  a  tone  almost  of  command.  "  He 
will  not  undo  all  that  he  has  done;  I  know 
him  better  than  that."  But  Latimer  made 
no  answer,  and  for  a  moment  the  two  men 
stood  watching  each  other  and  question 
ing  each  other  with  their  eyes.  Then  Lat 
imer  turned,  and  without  again  so  much  as 
glancing  at  the  girl  walked  steadily  to  the 
door  and  left  the  room.  He  passed  on  slowly 
down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  night,  and 
paused  upon  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  to 
the  street.  Below  him  lay  the  avenue  with 
its  double  line  of  lights  stretching  off  in 
two  long  perspectives.  The  lamps  of  hun 
dreds  of  cabs  and  carriages  flashed  as  they 
advanced  toward  him  and  shone  for  a  mo 
ment  at  the  turnings  of  the  cross-streets,  and 
from  either  side  came  the  ceaseless  rush  and 
murmur,  and  over  all  hung  the  strange  mys 
tery  that  covers  a  great  city  at  night.  Lat- 
imer's  rooms  lay  to  the  south,  but  he  stood 
looking  toward  a  spot  to  the  north  with  a 


THE   OTHER    WOMAN.  127 

reckless,  harassed  look  in  his  face  that  had 
not  been  there  for  many  months.  He  stood 
so  for  a  minute,  and  then  gave  a  short  shrug 
of  disgust  at  his  momentary  doubt  and  ran 
quickly  down  the  steps.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  if 
it  were  for  a  month,  yes ;  but  it  is  to  be  for 
many  years,  many  more  long  years."  And 
turning  his  back  resolutely  to  the  north  he 
went  slowly  home. 


THE   TRAILEE  FOE   ROOM 
NO.  8. 


THE  "  trailer "  for  the  green-goods  men 
who  rented  room  No.  8  in  Case's  tenement, 
had  had  no  work  to  do  for  the  last  few  days, 
and  was  cursing  his  luck  in  consequence. 

He  was  entirely  too  young  to  curse,  but  he 
had  never  been  told  so,  and,  indeed,  so 
imperfect  had  his  training  been  that  he  had 
never  been  told  not  to  do  anything  as  long 
as  it  pleased  him  to  do  it  and  made  existence 
any  more  bearable. 

He  had  been  told  when  he  was  very  young, 
before  the  man  and  woman  who  had  brought 
him  into  the  world  had  separated,  not  to 
crawl  out  on  the  fire-escape,  because  he  might 
break  his  neck,  and  later,  after  his  father  had 
walked  off  Hegelman's  Slip  into  the  East 
River  while  very  drunk,  and  his  mother  had 
been  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  grand  lar- 
,  ceny,  he  had  been  told  not  to  let  the  police 
catch  him  sleeping  under  the  bridge. 
128 


THE  TRAILER  FOB   ROOM  NO.  8.      129 

With  these  two  exceptions  he  had  been 
told  to  do  as  he  pleased,  which  was  the  very 
mockery  of  advice,  as  he  was  just  about  as 
well  able  to  do  as  he  pleased  as  is  any  one 
who  has  to  beg  or  steal  what  he  eats  and  has 
to  sleep  in  hall- ways  or  over  the  iron  gratings 
of  warm  cellars  and  has  the  officers  of  the 
children's  societies  always  after  him  to  put 
him  in  a  "  Home  "  and  make  him  be  "  good." 

"  Snipes,"  as  the  trailer  was  called,  was  de 
termined  no  one  should  ever  force  him  to  be 
good  if  he  could  possibly  prevent  it.  And  he 
certainly  did  do  a  great  deal  to  prevent  it.  He 
knew  what  having  to  be  good  meant.  Some 
of  the  boys  who  had  escaped  from  the  Home 
had  told  him  all  about  that.  It  meant  wear 
ing  shoes  and  a  blue  and  white  checkered 
apron,  and  making  cane-bottomed  chairs  all 
day,  and  having  to  wash  yourself  in  a  big  iron 
tub  twice  a  week,  not  to  speak  of  having  to 
move  about  like  machines  whenever  the  lady 
teacher  hit  a  bell.  So  when  the  green-goods 
men,  of  whom  the  genial  Mr.  A  If  Wolfe  was 
the  chief,  asked  Snipes  to  act  as  "  trailer  "  for 
them  at  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  every  victim 
he  shadowed,  he  jumped  at  the  offer  and  was 
proud  of  the  position. 


180       THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8. 

If  you  should  happen  to  keep  a  grocery 
store  in  the  country,  or  to  run  the  village 
post-office,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  you  know 
what  a  green-goods  man  is ;  but  in  case  you 
don't,  and  have  only  a  vague  idea  as  to  how 
he  lives,  a  paragraph  of  explanation  must  be 
inserted  here  for  your  particular  benefit. 
Green  goods  is  the  technical  name  for  coun 
terfeit  bills,  and  the  green-goods  men  send 
out  circulars  to  countrymen  all  over  the 
United  States,  offering  to  sell  them  $5000 
worth  of  counterfeit  money  for  $500,  and 
ease  their  conscience,  by  explaining  to  them 
that  by  purchasing  these  green  goods  they  are 
hurting  no  one  but  the  Government,  which  is 
quite  able,  with  its  big  surplus,  to  stand  the 
loss.  They  enclose  a  letter  which  is  to  serve 
their  victim  as  a  mark  of  identification  or 
credential  when  he  comes  on  to  purchase. 

The  address  they  give  him  is  in  one  of  the 
many  drug-store  and  cigar-store  post-offices 
which  are  scattered  all  over  New  York,  and 
which  contribute  to  make  vice  and  crime  so 
easy  that  the  evil  they  do  cannot  be  reckoned 
in  souls  lost  or  dollars  stolen.  If  the  letter 
from  the  countryman  strikes  the  dealers  in 
green  goods  as  sincere,  they  appoint  an  in- 


THE   TRAILER   FOB   ROOM  NO.  8.      1£1 

terview  with  him  by  mail  in  rooms  they  rent 
for  the  purpose,  and  if  they,  on  meeting  him, 
there,  think  he  is  still  in  earnest  and  not  a 
detective  or  officer  in  disgnise,  they  appoint 
still  another  interview,  to  be  held  later  in  the 
day  in  the  back  room  of  some  saloon. 

Then  the  countryman  is  watched  through 
out  the  day  from  the  moment  he  leaves  the 
first  meeting-place  until  he  arrives  at  the 
saloon.  If  anything  in  his  conduct  during 
that  time  leads  the  man  whose  duty  it  is  to 
follow  him,  or  the  "  trailer,"  as  the  profession 
call  it,  to  believe  he  is  a  detective,  he  finds 
when  he  arrives  at  the  saloon  that  there  is  no 
one  to  receive  him.  But  if  the  trailer  re 
gards  his  conduct  as  unsuspicious,  he  is  taken 
to  another  saloon,  not  the  one  just  appointed, 
which  is,  perhaps,  a  most  respectable  place, 
but  to  the  thieves'  own  private  little  rendez 
vous,  where  he  is  robbed  in  any  of  the  several 
different  ways  best  suited  to  their  purpose. 

Snipes  was  a  very  good  trailer.  He  was 
so  little  that  no  one  ever  noticed  him,  and  he 
could  keep  a  man  in  sight  no  matter  how  big 
the  crowd  was,  or  how  rapidly  it  changed  and 
shifted.  And  he  was  as  patient  as  he  was 
quick,  and  would  wait  for  hours  if  needful, 


132      THE  TEAILEE  FOE  EOOM  NO.  8. 

with  his  eye  on  a  door,  until  his  man  reissued 
into  the  street  again.  And  if  the  one  he 
shadowed  looked  behind  him  to  see  if  he  was 
followed,  or  dodged  up  and  down  different 
streets,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  throw  off  pur 
suit,  or  despatched  a  note  or  telegram,  or 
stopped  to  speak  to  a  policeman  or  any  special 
officer,  as  a  detective  might,  who  thought  he 
had  his  men  safely  in  hand,  off  Snipes  would 
go  on  a  run,  to  where  Alf  Wolfe  was  waiting, 
and  tell  what  he  had  seen. 

Then  Wolfe  would  give  him  a  quarter  or 
more,  and  the  trailer  would  go  back  to  his 
post  opposite  Case's  tenement,  and  wait  for 
another  victim  to  issue  forth,  and  for  the  sig 
nal  from  No.  8  to  follow  him.  It  was  not 
much  fun,  and.  "customers,"  as  Mr.  Wolfe 
always  called  them,  had  been  scarce,  and  Mr. 
Wolfe,  in  consequence,  had  been  cross  and 
nasty  in  his  temper,  and  had  batted  Snipe  out 
of  the  way  on  more  than  one  occasion.  So 
the  trailer  was  feeling  blue  and  disconsolate, 
and  wondered  how  it  was  that  "Naseby" 
Raegen,  "  Rags  "  Raegen's  younger  brother, 
had  had  the  luck  to  get  a  two  weeks'  visit 
to  the  country  with  the  Fresh  Air  Fund  chil 
dren,  while  he  had  not. 


THE   TEA1LEE   FOR   BOOM  NO.  8.       133 

He  supposed  it  was  because  Naseby  had 
sold  papers,  and  wore  shoes,  and  went  to  night 
school,  and  did  many  other  things  equally 
objectionable.  Still,  what  Naseby  had  said 
about  the  country,  and  riding  horseback,  and 
the  fishing,  and  the  shooting  crows  with  no 
cops  to  stop  you,  and  watermelons  for  nothing, 
had  sounded  wonderfully  attractive  and  quite 
improbable,  except  that  it  was  one  of  Naseby's 
peculiarly  sneaking  ways  to  tell  the  truth. 
Anyway,  Naseby  had  left  Cherry  Street  for 
good,  and  had  gone  back  to  the  -country  to 
work  there.  This  all  helped  to  make  Snipes 
morose,  and  it  was  with  a  cynical  smile  of 
satisfaction  that  he  watched  an  old  country 
man  coming  slowly  up  the  street,  and  asking 
his  way  timidly  of  the  Italians  to  Case's  tene 
ment. 

The  countryman  looked  up  and  about  him 
in  evident  bewilderment  and  anxiety.  He 
glanced  hesitatingly  across  at  the  boy  leaning 
against  the  wall  of  a  saloon,  but  the  boy  was 
watching  two  sparrows  fighting  in  the  dirt  of 
the  street,  and  did  not  see  him.  At  least,  it 
did  not  look  as  if  he  saw  him.  Then  the  old 
man  knocked  on  the  door  of  Case's  tenement. 
No  one  came,  for  the  people  in  the  house  had 


134       THE   TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8. 

iearned  to  leave  inquiring  countrymen  to  the 
gentleman  who  rented  room  No.  8,  and  as 
that  gentleman  was  occupied  at  that  moment 
with  a  younger  countryman,  he  allowed  the 
old  man,  whom  he  had  first  cautiously  ob 
served  from  the  top  of  the  stairs,  to  remain 
where  he  was. 

The  old  man  stood  uncertainly  on  the  stoop, 
and  then  removed  his  heavy  black  felt  hat 
and  rubbed  his  bald  head  and  the  white  shin 
ing  locks  of  hair  around  it  with  a  red  ban 
danna  handkerchief.  Then  he  walked  very 
slowly  across  the  street  toward  Snipes,  for 
the  rest  of  the  street  was  empty,  and  there 
was  no  one  else  at  hand.  The  old  man  was 
dressed  in  heavy  black  broadcloth,  quaintly 
cut,  with  boot  legs  showing  up  under  the 
trousers,  and  with  faultlessly  clean  linen  of 
home-made  manufacture. 

"I  can't  make  the  people  in  that  house 
over  there  hear  me,"  complained  the  old  man, 
with  the  simple  confidence  that  old  age  has 
in  very  young  boys.  "Do  you  happen  to 
know  if  they're  at  home  ?  " 

"  Nop,"  growled  Snipes. 

"  I'm  looking  for  a  man  named  Perceval," 
said  the  stranger ;  "  he  lives  in  that  house,  and 


THE  TRAILER   FOR  ROOM  NO.  8.      135 

I  wanter  see  him  on  most  particular  business. 
It  isn't  a  very  pleasing  place  he  lives  in,  is  it 
—  at  least,"  he  hurriedly  added,  as  if  fearful 
of  giving  offence,  "  it  isn't  much  on  the  out 
side  ?  Do  you  happen  to  know  him  ?  " 

Perceval  was  Alf  Wolfe's  business  name. 

"  Nop,"  said  the  trailer. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  looking  for  him,"  explained 
the  stranger,  slowly,  "as  much  as  I'm  looking 
for  a  young  man  that  I  kind  of  suspect  is  been 
to  see  him  to-day :  a  young  man  that  looks  like 
me,  only  younger.  Has  lightish  hair  and 
pretty  tall  and  lanky,  and  carrying  a  shiny 
black  bag  with  him.  Did  you  happen  to  hev 
noticed  him  going  into  that  place  across  the 
way?" 

"  Nop,"  said  Snipas. 

The  old  man  sighed  and  nodded  his  head 
thoughtfully  at  Snipes,  and  puckered  up  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  as  though  he  were 
thinking  deeply.  He  had  wonderfully  honest 
blue  eyes,  and  with  the  white  hair  hanging 
around  his  sun-burned  face,  he  looked  like  an 
old  saint.  But  the  trailer  didn't  know  that: 
he  did  know,  though,  that  this  man  was  a 
different  sort  from  the  rest.  Still,  that  was 
none  of  his  business. 


136       THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8. 

"  What  is't  you  want  to  see  him  about?  "  he 
asked  sullenly,  while  he  looked  up  and  down 
the  street  and  everywhere  but  at  the  old  man, 
and  rubbed  one  bare  foot  slowly  over  the 
other. 

The  old  man  looked  pained,  and  much  to 
Snipe's  surprise,  the  question  brought  the 
tears  to  his  eyes,  and  his  lips  trembled.  Then 
he  swerved  slightly,  so  that  he  might  have 
fallen  if  Snipes  had  not  caught  him  and  helped 
him  across  the  pavement  to  a  seat  on  a  stoop. 
"  Thankey,  son,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  I'm  not 
as  strong  as  I  was,  an'  the  sun's  mighty 
hot,  an'  these  streets  of  yours  smell  mighty 
bad,  and  I've  had  a  powerful  lot  of  trouble 
these  last  few  days.  But  if  I  could  see 
this  man  Perceval  before  my  boy  does,  I 
know  I  could  fix  it,  and  it  would  all  come 
out  right." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  him  about  ? " 
repeated  the  trailer,  suspiciously,  while  he 
fanned  the  old  man  with  his  hat.  Snipes 
could  not  have  told  you  why  he  dicl  this  or 
why  this  particular  old  countryman  was  any 
different  from  the  many  others  who  came  to 
buy  counterfeit  money  and  who  were  thieves 
at  heart  as  well  as  in  deed. 


THE  TRAILER  FOR   ROOM  NO.  8.       137 

"  I  want  to  see  him  about  my  son,"  said 
the  old  man  to  the  little  boy.  "  He's  a  bad 
man  whoever  he  is.  This  'ere  Perceval  is  a 
bad  man.  He  sends  down  his  wickedness  to 
the  country  and  tempts  weak  folks  to  sin. 
He  teaches  'em  ways  of  evildoing  they  never 
heard  of,  and  he's  ruined  my  son  with  the 
others  —  ruined  him.  I've  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  city  and  its  ways ;  we're  strict  liv 
ing,  simple  folks,  and  perhaps  we've  been  too 
strict,  or  Abraham  wouldn't  have  run  away 
to  the  city.  But  I  thought  it  was  best,  and 
I  doubted  nothing  when  the  fresh-air  chil 
dren  came  to  the  farm.  I  didn't  like  city 
children,  but  I  let  'em  come.  I  took  'em  in, 
and  did  what  I  could  to  make  it  pleasant 
for  'em.  Poor  little  fellers,  all  as  thin  as 
corn-stalks  and  pale  as  ghosts,  and  as  dirty 
as  you. 

"  I  took  'em  in  and  let  'em  ride  the  horses, 
and  swim  in  the  river,  and  shoot  crows  in  the 
cornfield,  and  eat  all  the  cherries  they  could 
pull,  and  what  did  the  city  send  me  in  return 
for  that?  It  sent  me  this  thieving,  rascally 
scheme  of  this  man  Perceval's,  and  it  turned 
my  boy's  head,  and  lost  him  to  me.  I  saw 
him  poring  over  the  note  and  reading  it  as  if 


138       THE  TEAILEE  FOR  ROOM  NO,  8. 

it  were  Gospel,  and  I  suspected  nothing.  And 
when  he  asked  me  if  he  could  keep  it,  I  said 
yes  he  could,  for  I  thought  he  wanted  it  for 
a  curiosity,  and  then  off  he  put  with  the 
black  bag  and  the  $200  he's  been  saving  up 
to  start  housekeeping  with  when  the  old 
Deacon  says  he  can  marry  his  daughter 
Kate."  The  old  man  placed  both  hands  on 
his  knees  and  went  on  excitedly. 

"The  old  Deacon  says  he'll  not  let  'em 
marry  till  Abe  has  $2000,  and  that  is  what 
the  boy's  come  after.  He  wants  to  buy 
$2000  worth  of  bad  money  with  his  $200 
worth  of  good  money,  to  show  the  Deacon, 
just  as  though  it  were  likely  a  marriage  after 
such  a  crime  as  that  would  ever  be  a  happy 
one." 

Snipes  had  stopped  fanning  the  old  man, 
as  he  ran  on,  and  was  listening  intently,  with 
an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  sympathy  and 
sorrow,  uncomfortable  because  he  was  not 
used  to  it. 

He  could  not  see  why  the  old  man  should 
think  the  city  should  have  treated  his  boy 
better  because  he  had  taken  care  of  the  city's 
children,  and  he  was  puzzled  between  his 
allegiance  to  the  gang .  and  his  desire  to  help 


THE   TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8.       139 

the  gang's  innocent  victim,  and  then  because 
he  was  an  innocent  victim  and  not  a  "  cus 
tomer,"  he  let  his  sympathy,  get  the  better  of 
his  discretion. 

"Saay,"  he  began,  abruptly,  "I'm  not  sayin' 
nothin'  to  nobody,  and  nobody's  sayin'  nothin' 
to  me — see?  but  I  guess  your  son'll  be  around 
here  to-day,  sure.  He's  got  to  come  before 
one,  for  this  office  closes  sharp  at  one,  and  we 
goes  home.  Now,  I've  got  the  call  whether 
he  gets  his  stuff  taken  off  him  or  whether  the 
boys  leave  him  alone.  If  I  say  the  word, 
they'd  no  more  come  near  him  than  if  he  had 
the  cholera  —  see?  An'  I'll  say  it  for  this 
oncet,  just  for  you.  Hold  on,"  he  commanded, 
as  the  old  man  raised  his  voice  in  surprised 
interrogation,  "  don't  ask  no  questions,  'cause 
you  won't  get  no  answers  except  lies.  You 
find  your  way  back  to  the  Grand  Central 
Depot  and  wait  there,  and  I'll  steer  your  son 
down  to  you,  sure,  as  soon  as  I  can  find  him  — 
see  ?  Now  get  along,  or  you'll  get  me  inter 
trouble." 

"  You've  been  lying  to  me,  then,"  cried 
the  old  man,  "  and  you're  as  bad  as  any 
of  them,  and  my  boy's  over  in  that  house 
now." 


140       THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8. 

He  scrambled  up  from  the  stoop,  and  be 
fore  the  trailer  could  understand  what  he 
proposed  to  do,  had  dashed  across  the  street 
and  up  the  stoop,  and  up  the  stairs,  and  had 
burst  into  room  No.  8. 

Snipes  tore  after  him.  "  Come  back !  come 
back  out  of  that,  you  old  fool ! "  he  cried. 
"  You'll  get  killed  in  there  !  "  Snipes  was 
afraid  to  enter  room  No.  8,  but  he  could  hear 
from  the  outside  the  old  man  challenging 
A  If  Wolfe  in  a  resonant  angry  voice  that  rang 
through  the  building. 

"  Whew ! "  said  Snipes,  crouching  on  the 
stairs,  "  there's  goin'  to  be  a  muss  this  time, 
sure ! " 

"  Where's  my  son  ?  Where  have  you  hid 
den  my  son  ?  "  demanded  the  old  man.  He 
ran  across  the  room  and  pulled  open  a  door 
that  led  into  another  room,  but  it  was  empty. 
He  had  fully  expected  to  see  his  boy  mur 
dered  and  quartered,  and  with  his  pockets 
inside  out.  He  turned  on  Wolfe,  shaking 
his  white  hair  like  a  mane.  "  Give  me  up 
my  son,  you  rascal  you !  "  he  cried,  "  or  I'll 
get  the  police,  and  I'll  tell  them  how  you 
decoy  honest  boys  to  your  den  and  murder 
them." 


THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8.       141 

"Are  you  drunk  or  crazy,  or  just  a  little 
of  both?"  asked  Mr.  Wolfe.  "For  a  cent 
I'd  throw  you  out  of  that  window.  Get  out 
of  here  !  Quick,  now !  You're  too  old  to 
get  excited  like  that ;  it's  not  good  for  you." 

But  this  only  exasperated  the  old  man  the 
more,  and  he  made  a  lunge  at  the  confidence 
man's  throat. 

Mr.  Wolfe  stepped  aside  and  caught  him 
around  the  waist  and  twisted  his  leg  around 
the  old  man's  rheumatic  one,  and  held  him. 
"  Now,"  said  Wolfe,  as  quietly  as  though  he 
were  giving  a  lesson  in  wrestling,  "if  I 
wanted  to,  I  could  break  your  back." 

The  old  man  glared  up  at  him,  panting. 
"  Your  son's  not  here,"  said  Wolfe,  "  and  this 
is  a  private  gentleman's  private  room.  I 
could  turn  you  over  to  the  police  for  assault 
if  I  wanted  to ;  but,"  he  added,  magnani 
mously,  "  I  won't.  Now  get  out  of  here  and 
go  home  to  your  wife,  and  when  you  come  to 
see  the  sights  again  don't  drink  so  much  raw 
whiskey."  He  half  carried  the  old  farmer  to 
the  top  of  the  stairs  and  dropped  him,  and 
went  back  and  closed  the  door.  Snipes  came 
up  and  helped  him  down  and  out,  and  the  old 
man  and  the  boy  walked  slowly  and  in  silence 


142       THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  8. 

out  to  the  Bowery.  Snipes  helped  his  com 
panion  into  a  car  and  put  him  off  at  the 
Grand  Central  Depot.  The  heat  and  the  ex 
citement  had  told  heavily  on  the  old  man, 
and  he  seemed  dazed  and  beaten. 

He  was  leaning  on  the  trailer's  shoulder 
and  waiting  for  his  turn  in  the  line  in  front 
of  the  ticket  window,  when  a  tall,  gawky, 
good-looking  country  lad  sprang  out  of  it 
and  at  him  with  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
anxiety.  "Father,"  he  said,  "father,  what's 
wrong  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Is  any 
body  ill  at  home  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Abraham,"  said  the  old  man  simply,  and 
dropped  heavily  on  the  younger  man's  shoul 
der.  Then  he  raised  his  head  sternly  and 
said:  "I  thought  you  were  murdered,  but 
better  that  than  a  thief,  Abraham.  What 
brought  you  here?  What  did  you  do  with 
that  rascal's  letter  ?  What  did  you  do  with 
his  money?" 

The  trailer  drew  cautiously  away ;  the  con 
versation  was  becoming  unpleasantly  per 
sonal. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
said  Abraham,  calmly.  "The  Deacon  gave 
his  consent  the  other  night  without  the  12000, 


THE  TRAILER  FOR  ROOM  NO.  S.       143 

and  I  took  the  $200  I'd  saved  and  came  right 
on  in  the  fust  train  to  buy  the  ring.  It's 
pretty,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said,  flushing,  as  he  pulled 
out  a  little  velvet  box  and  opened  it. 

The  old  man  was  so  happy  at  this  that  he 
laughed  and  cried  alternately,  and  then  he 
made  a  grab  for  the  trailer  and  pulled  him 
down  beside  him  on  one  of  the  benches. 

"  You've  got  to  come  with  me,"  he  said, 
with  kind  severity.  "  You're  a  good  boy,  but 
your  folks  have  let  you  run  wrong.  You've 
been  good  to  me,  and  you  said  you  would  get 
me  back  my  boy  and  save  him  from  those 
thieves,  and  I  believe  now  that  you  meant  it. 
Now  you're  just  coming  back  with  us  to  the 
farm  and  the  cows  and  the  river,  and  you 
can  eat  all  you  want  and  live  with  us,  and 
never,  never  see  this  unclean,  wicked  city 
again." 

Snipes  looked  up  keenly  from  under  the 
rim  of  his  hat  and  rubbed  one  of  his  muddy 
feet  over  the  other  as  was  his  habit.  The 
young  countryman,  greatly  puzzled,  and  the 
older  man  smiling  kindly,  waited  expectantly 
in  silence.  From  outside  came  the  sound  of 
the  car-bells  jangling,  and  the  rattle  of  cabs, 
and  the  cries  of  drivers,  and  all  the  varying 


Ill  •    9. 

i  i  nunj 

. 

• 

tmi 

"I     .;•..-..    >    -   ,    1*5   t<X»  g<> 

SMI!.  4*y  lauv        -I  guana  liulo  v»Ul 

MI,  in  ih.r  tonea 
of  j^i.  ^  >u  \\ou: 

U>  that 

' 

A'rll,'1    flaiil  tluj  I  :.uil  h*'« 

•I,  urith  ^  »uld 

i  waa 

.inij    hun,    hut    1m   dulu'i 

I  juitipi 
loii>j,  oM    in  v        1  MI 

me/* 

ran^  UHJ  t.iiiiily   N  I  lau^h 

urea*  a»  thv-v  <*U  H<»t 

|  ah    llu:    NHU-S   rtU»Ul 

11  of  UH.t 

\\ 

niin  \  •   & 


"THERE   WERE    NINETY   AND 
NINE." 


t;  II  Ai;i:iNi;i-xmD,  or  tlie  "Goodwood 
riungor,"  as  ho  was  porhaps  hot  tor  known  at 
that  tiiuo.  had  ooiuo  to  Monto  Carlo  in  a  very 
ditYorout  spirit  and  in  a  very  ditYorout  state  of 
mind  from  any  in  whioh  ho  had  e.vor  visitod 
tho  plaoo  Ivforo.  Ho  had  oomo  thoro  for  tho 
saino  roason  that  a  wonndod  lion,  or  a  poisoned 
rat.  for  that  mat  tor.  o  raw  Is  away  into  a  oornor, 
that  it  may  ho  alono  wlion  it  dios.  Ho  stood 
loaning  against  ono  of  tho  pillars  of  tho  ( 'asiuo 
with  his  baok  to  tho  moonlight,  and  witli  his 
oyos  blinking  painfully  at  tho  flaming  lamps 
abovo  tho  L^roon  tablos  insido.  Ho  know  tlu>y 
would  bo  put  out  vory  soon  :  and  as  ho  had 
soiuothiu£  to  do  ihon,  lu>  ropirdod  thorn  li\- 
otlly  with  painful  oaruostuoss.  as  a  man  who  is 
oouiloiuuod  to  dio  at  suuriso  watohos  through 
liis  harrod  windows  for  tho  first  gray  light  of 
tho  morning. 

146 


146     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE.11 

That  queer,  numb  feeling  in  his  head  and 
the  sharp  line  of  pain  between  his  eyebrows 
which  had  been  growing  worse  for  the  last 
three  weeks,  was  troubling  him  more  terribly 
than  ever  before,  and  his  nerves  had  thrown 
off  all  control  and  rioted  at  the  base  of  his 
head  and  at  his  wrists,  and  jerked  and 
twitched  as  though,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  they 
were  striving  to  pull  the  tired  body  into 
pieces  and  to  set  themselves  free.  He  was 
wondering  whether  if  he  should  take  his  hand 
from  his  pocket  and  touch  his  head  he  would 
find  that  it  had  grown  longer,  and  had  turned 
into  a  soft,  spongy  mass  which  would  give 
beneath  his  fingers.  He  considered  this  for 
some  time,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  half 
withdraw  one  hand,  but  thought  better  of  it 
and  shoved  it  back  again  as  he  considered 
how  much  less  terrible  it  was  to  remain  in 
doubt  than  to  find  that  this  phenomenon  had 
actually  taken  place. 

The  pity  of  the  whole  situation  was,  that 
the  boy  was  only  a  boy  with  all  his  man's 
miserable  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  the 
reason  of  it  all  was,  that  he  had  entirely  too 
much  heart  and  not  enough  money  to  make 
an  unsuccessful  gambler.  If  he  had  only 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE:'  147 

been  able  to  lose  his  conscience  instead  of  his 
money,  or  even  if  he  had  kept  his  conscience 
and  won,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have 
been  waiting  for  the  lights  to  go  out  at  Monte 
Carlo.  But  he  had  riot  only  lost  all  of  his 
money  and  more  besides,  which  he  could  never 
make  up,  but  he  had  lost  other  things  which 
meant  much  more  to  him  now  than  money, 
and  which  could  not  be  made  up  or  paid  back 
at  even  usurious  interest.  He  had  not  only 
lost  the  right  to  sit  at  his  father's  table,  but 
the  right  to  think  of  the  girl  whose  place  in 
Surrey  ran  next  to  that  of  his  own  people, 
and  whose  lighted  window  in  the  north  wing 
he  had  watched  on  those  many  dreary  nights 
when  she  had  been  ill,  from  his  own  terrace 
across  the  trees  in  the  park.  And  all  he  had 
gained  was  the  notoriety  that  made  him  a  by 
word  with  decent  people,  and  the  hero  of  the 
race-tracks  and  the  music-halls.  He  was  no 
longer  "Young  Harringford,  the  eldest  son 
of  the  Harringfords  of  Surrey,"  but  the 
"  Goodwood  Plunger,"  to  whom  Fortune  had 
made  desperate  love  and  had  then  jilted,  and 
mocked,  and  overthrown. 

As  he  looked  back  at  it  now  and  remem 
bered  himself  as  he  was  then,  it  seemed  as 


148     "  THEEE  WEEE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

though  he  was  considering  an  entirely  distinct 
and  separate  personage  —  a  boy  of  whom  he 
liked  to  think,  who  had  had  strong,  healthy 
ambitions  and  gentle  tastes.  He  reviewed  it 
passionlessly  as  he  stood  staring  at  the  lights 
inside  the  Casino,  as  clearly  as  he  was  capable 
of  doing  in  his  present  state  and  with  miser 
able  interest.  How  he  had  laughed  when 
young  Norton  told  him  in  boyish  confidence 
that  there  was  a  horse  named  Siren  in  his 
father's  stables  which  would  win  the  Good 
wood  Cup ;  how,  having  gone  down  to  see 
Norton's  people  when  the  long  vacation  began, 
he  had  seen  Siren  daily,  and  had  talked  of  her 
until  two  every  morning  in  the  smoking-room, 
and  had  then  staid  up  two  hours  Later  to 
watch  her  take  her  trial  spin  over  the  downs. 
He  remembered  how  they  used  to  stamp  back 
over  the  long  grass  wet  with  dew,  comparing 
watches  and  talking  of  the  time  in  whispers, 
and  said  good  night  as  the  sun  broke  over  the 
trees  in  the  park.  And  then  just  at  this  time 
of  all  others,  when  the  horse  was  the  only 
interest  of  those  around  him,  from  Lord  Nor 
ton  and  his  whole  household  down  to  the 
youngest  stable  boy  and  oldest  gaffer  in  the 
village,  he  had  come  into  his  money. 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  149 

And  then  began  the  then  and  still  inexpli 
cable  plunge  into  gambling,  and  the  wagering 
of  greater  sums  than  the  owner  of  Siren  dared 
to  risk  himself,  the  secret  backing  of  the  horse 
through  commissioners  all  over  England,  until 
the  boy  by  his  single  fortune  had  brought  the 
odds  against  her  from  60  to  0  down  to  6  to  0. 
He  recalled,  with  a  thrill  that  seemed  to  settle 
his  nerves  for  the  moment,  the  little  black 
specks  at  the  starting-post  and  the  larger 
specks  as  the  horses  turned  the  first  corner. 
The  rest  of  the  people  on  the  coach  were 
making  a  great  deal  of  noise,  he  remembered, 
but  he,  who  had  more  to  lose  than  any  one 
or  all  of  them  together,  had  stood  quite  still 
with  his  feet  on  the  wheel  and  his  back 
against  the  box-seat,  and  with  his  hands  sunk 
into  his  pockets  and  the  nails  cutting  through 
his  gloves.  The  specks  grew  into  horses  with 
bits  of  color  on  them,  and  then  the  deep  mut 
tering  roar  of  the  crowd  merged  into  one 
great  shout,  and  swelled  and  grew  into 
sharper,  quicker,  impatient  cries,  as  the  horses 
turned  into  the  stretch  with  only  their  heads 
showing  towards  the  goal.  Some  of  the  people 
were  shouting  "Firefly!"  and  others  were 
calling  on  "  Vixen ! "  and  others,  who  had 


150     "  THERE  WEEE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

their  glasses  up,  cried  "  Trouble  leads  !  "  but 
he  only  waited  until  he  could  distinguish  the 
Norton  colors,  with  his  lips  pressed  tightly 
together.  Then  they  came  so  close  that  their 
hoofs  echoed  as  loudly  as  when  horses  gallop 
over  a  bridge,  and  from  among  the  leaders 
Siren's  beautiful  head  and  shoulders  showed 
like  sealskin  in  the  sun,  and  the  boy  on  her 
back  leaned  forward  and  touched  her  gently 
with  his  hand,  as  they  had  so  often  seen  him 
do  on  the  downs,  and  Siren,  as  though  he  had 
touched  a  spring,  leaped  forward  with  her 
head  shooting  back  and  out,  like  a  piston-rod 
that  has  broken  loose  from  its  fastening  and 
beats  the  air,  while  the  jockey  sat  motionless, 
with  his  right  arm  hanging  at  his  side  as 
limply  as  though  it  were  broken,  and  with 
his  left  moving  forward  and  back  in  time  with 
the  desperate  strokes  of  the  horse's  head. 

"  Siren  wins ! "  cried  Lord  Norton,  with  a 
grim  smile,  and  " Siren!"  the  mob  shouted 
back  with  wonder  and  angry  disappointment, 
and  "  Siren !  "  the  hills  echoed  from  far  across 
the  course.  Young  Harringford  felt  as  if  he 
had  suddenly  been  lifted  into  heaven  after 
three  months  of  purgatory,  and  smiled  un 
certainly  at  the  excited  people  on  the  coach 


"  THERE  WEEE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  151 

about  him.  It  made  him  smile  even  now 
when  he  recalled  young  Norton's  flushed  face 
and  the  awe  and  reproach  in  his  voice  when 
he  climbed  up  and  whispered,  "  Why,  Cecil, 
they  say  in  the  ring  you've  won  a  fortune, 
and  you  never  told  us."  And  how  Griffith, 
the  biggest  of  the  book-makers,  with  the  rest 
of  them  at  his  back,  came  up  to  him  and 
touched  his  hat  resentfully,  and  said,  "  You'll 
have  to  give  us  time,  sir;  I'm  very  hard  hit"; 
and  how  the  crowd  stood  about  him  and 
looked  at  him  curiously,  and  the  Certain 
Royal  Personage  turned  and  said,  "Who  — 
not  that  boy,  surely?"  Then  how,  on  the 
day  following,  the  papers  told  of  the  young 
gentleman  who  of  all  others  had  won  a  for 
tune,  thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds 
they  said,  getting  back  sixty  for  every  one 
he  had  ventured ;  and  pictured  him  in  baby 
clothes  with  the  cup  in  his  arms,  or  in  an 
Eton  jacket;  and  how  all  of  them  spoke  of 
him  slightingly,  or  admiringly,  as  the  "  Good 
wood  Plunger." 

He  did  not  care  to  go  on  after  that;  to 
recall  the  mortification  of  his  father,  whose 
pride  was  hurt  and  whose  hopes  were  dashed 
by  this  sudden,  mad  freak  of  fortune,  nor 


152     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

how  he  railed  at  and  provoked  him  until  the 
boy  rebelled  and  went  back  to  the  courses, 
where  he  was  a  celebrity  and  a  king. 

The  rest  is  a  very  common  story.  Fortune 
and  greater  fortune  at  first;  days  in  which 
he  could  not  lose,  days  in  which  he  drove 
back  to  the  crowded  inns  choked  with  dust, 
sunburnt  and  fagged  with  excitement,  to  a 
riotous  supper  and  baccarat,  and  afterward 
went  to  sleep  only  to  see  cards  and  horses 
and  moving  crowds  and  clouds  of  dust;  days 
spent  in  a  short  covert  coat,  with  a  field-glass 
over  his  shoulder  and  with  a  pasteboard  ticket 
dangling  from  his  buttonhole  ;  and  then  came 
the  change  that  brought  conscience  up  again, 
and  the  visits  to  the  Jews,  and  the  slights  of 
the  men  who  had  never  been  his  friends,  but 
whom  he  had  thought  had  at  least  liked  him 
for  himself,  even  if  he  did  not  like  them ; 
and  then  debts,  and  more  debts,  and  the  bor 
rowing  of  money  to  pay  here  and  there,  and 
threats  of  executions ;  and,  with  it  all,  the 
longing  for  the  fields  and  trout  springs  of 
Surrey  and  the  walk  across  the  park  to  where 
she  lived.  This  grew  so  strong  that  he  wrote 
to  his  father,  and  was  told  briefly  that  he 
who  was  to  have  kept  up  the  family  name 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  153 

had  dragged  it  into  the  dust  of  the  race 
courses,  and  had  changed  it  at  his  own  wish 
to  that  of  the  Boy  Plunger  —  and  that  the 
breach  was  irreconcilable. 

Then  this  queer  feeling  came  on,  and  he 
wondered  why  he  could  not  eat,  and  why  he 
shivered  even  when  the  room  was  warm  or 
the  sun  shining,  and  the  fear  came  upon  him 
that  with  all  this  trouble  and  disgrace  his 
head  might  give  way,  and  then  that  it  had 
given  way.  This  came  to  him  at  all  times, 
and  lately  more  frequently  and  with  a  fresher, 
more  cruel  thrill  of  terror,  and  he  began  to 
watch  himself  and  note  how  he  spoke,  and  to 
repeat  over  what  he  had  said  to  see  if  it  were 
sensible,  and  to  question  himself  as  to  why 
he  laughed,  and  at  what.  It  was  not  a  ques 
tion  of  whether  it  would  or  would  not  be 
cowardly;  it  was  simply  a  necessity.  The 
thing  had  to  be  stopped.  He  had  to  have 
rest  and  sleep  and  peace  again.  He  had 
boasted  in  those  reckless,  prosperous  days 
that  if  by  any  possible  chance  he  should  lose 
his  money  he  would  drive  a  hansom,  or  emi 
grate  to  the  colonies,  or  take  the  shilling. 
He  had  no  patience  in  those  da}\s  with  men 
who  could  not  live  on  in  adversity,  and  who 


1 54     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINES* 

were  found  in  the  gun-room  with  a  hole  in 
their  heads,  and  whose  family  asked  their 
polite  friends  to  believe  that  a  man  used  to 
firearms  from  his  school-days  had  tried  to 
load  a  hair-trigger  revolver  with  the  muzzle 
pointed  at  his  forehead.  He  had  expressed  a 
fine  contempt  for  those  men  then,  but  now  he 
had  forgotten  all  that,  and  thought  only  of 
the  relief  it  would  bring,  and  not  how  others 
might  suffer  by  it.  If  he  did  consider  this,  it 
was  only  to  conclude  that  they  would  quite 
understand,  and  be  glad  that  his  pain  and 
fear  were  over. 

Then  he  planned  a  grand  coup  which  was 
to  pay  off  all  his  debts  and  give  him  a  second 
chance  to  present  himself  a  supplicant  at  his 
father's  house.  If  it  failed,  he  would  have  to 
stop  this  queer  feeling  in  his  head  at  once. 
The  Grand  Prix  and  the  English  horse  was 
the  final  coup.  On  this  depended  everything 
—  the  return  of  his  fortunes,  the  reconciliation 
with  his  father,  and  the  possibility  of  meeting 
her  again.  It  was  a  very  hot  day  he  remem 
bered,  and  very  bright ;  but  the  tall  poplars 
on  the  road  to  the  races  seemed  to  stop  grow 
ing  just  at  a  level  with  his  eyes.  Below  that 
it  was  clear  enough,  but  all  above  seemed 


"  THERE  WEEE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  155 

black  — as  though  a  cloud  had  fallen  and  was 
hanging  just  over  the  people's  heads.  He 
thought  of  speaking  of  this  to  his  man  Wal 
ters,  who  had  followed  his  fortunes  from  the 
first,  but  decided  not  to  do  so,  for,  as  it  was, 
he  had  noticed  that  Walters  had  observed 
him  closely  of  late,  and  had  seemed  to  spy 
upon  him.  The  race  began,  and  he  looked 
through  his  glass  for  the  English  horse  in  the 
front  and  could  not  find  her,  and  the  French 
man  beside  him  cried,  "Frou  Frou!"  as  Frou 
Frou  passed  the  goal.  He  lowered  his  glasses 
slowly  and  unscrewed  them  very  carefully 
before  dropping  them  back  into  the  case ; 
then  he  buckled  the  strap,  and  turned  and 
looked  about  him.  Two  Frenchmen  who  had 
won  a  hundred  francs  between  them  were 
jumping  and  dancing  at  his  side.  He  remem 
bered  wondering  why  they  did  not  speak  in 
English.  Then  the  sunlight  changed  to  a 
yellow,  nasty  glare,  as  though  a  calcium  light 
had  been  turned  on  the  glass  and  colors,  and 
he  pushed  his  way  back  to  his  carriage,  lean 
ing  heavily  on  the  servant's  arm,  and  drove 
slowly  back  to  Paris,  with  the  driver  flecking 
his  horses  fretfully  with  his  whip,  for  he  had 
wished  to  wait  and  see  the  end  of  the  races. 


156  "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

He  had  selected  Monte  Carlo  as  the  place 
for  it,  because  it  was  more  unlike  his  home 
than  any  other  spot,  and  because  one  summer 
night,  when  he  had  crossed  the  lawn  from  the 
Casino  to  the  hotel  with  a  gay  party  of  young 
men  and  women,  they  had  come  across  some 
thing  under  a  bush  which  they  took  to  be  a 
dog  or  a  man  asleep,  and  one  of  the  men  had 
stepped  forward  and  touched  it  with  his  foot, 
and  had  then  turned  sharply  and  said,  "  Take 
those  girls  away " ;  and  while  some  hurried 
the  women  back,  frightened  and  curious,  he 
and  the  others  had  picked  up  the  body  and 
found  it  to  be  that  of  a  young  Russian  whom 
they  had  just  seen  losing,  with  a  very  bad 
grace,  at  the  tables.  There  was  no  passion 
in  his  face  now,  and  his  evening  dress  was 
'quite  unruffled,  and  only  a  black  spot  on  the 
shirt  front  showed  where  the  powder  had 
burnt  the  linen.  It  had  made  a  great  im 
pression  on  him  then,  for  he  was  at  the  height 
of  his  fortunes,  with  crowds  of  sycophantic 
friends  and  a  retinue  of  dependents  at  his 
heels.  And  now  that  he  was  quite  alone  and 
disinherited  by  even  these  sorry  companions 
there  seemed  no  other  escape  from  the  pain 
in  his  brain  but  to  end  it,  and  he  sought  this 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."     157 

place  of  all  others  as  the  most  fitting  place  in 
which  to  die. 

So,  after  Walters  had  given  the  proper 
papers  and  checks  to  the  commissioner  who 
handled  his  debts  for  him,  he  left  Paris  and 
took  the  first  train  for  Monte  Carlo,  sitting 
at  the  window  of  the  carriage,  and  beating  8 
nervous  tattoo  on  the  pane  with  his  ring  until 
the  old  gentleman  at  the  other  end  of  the 
compartment  scowled  at  him.  But  Harring- 
ford  did  not  see  him,  nor  true  trees  and  fields 
as  they  swept  by,  and  it  was  not  until  Walters 
came  and  said,  "  You  get  out  here,  sir,"  that 
he  recognized  the  yellow  station  and  the  great 
hotels  on  the  hill  above.  It  was  half-past 
eleven,  and  the  lights  in  the  Casino  were  still 
burning  brightly.  He  wondered  whether  he 
would  have  time  to  go  over  to  the  hotel  and 
write  a  letter  to  his  father  and  to  her.  He 
decided,  after  some  difficult  consideration, 
that  he  would  not.  There  was  nothing  to 
say  that  they  did  not  know  already,  or  that 
they  would  fail  to  understand.  But  this  sug 
gested  to  him  that  what  they  had  written  to 
him  must  be  destroyed  at  once,  before  any 
stranger  could  claim  the  right  to  read  it.  He 
took  his  letters  from  his  pocket  and  looked 


158     "  THEEE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

them  over  carefully.  They  were  most  un 
pleasant  reading.  They  all  seemed  to  be 
about  money ;  some  begged  to  remind  him  of 
this  or  that  debt,  of  which  he  had  thought 
continuously  for  the  last  month,  while  others 
were  abusive  and  insolent.  Each  of  them  gave 
him  actual  pain.  One  was  the  last  letter  he 
had  received  from  his  father  just  before  leav 
ing  Paris,  and  though  he  knew  it  by  heart,  he 
read  it  over  again  for  the  last  time.  That  it 
came  too  late,  that  it  asked  what  he  knew 
now  to  be  impossible,  made  it  none  the  less 
grateful  to  him,  but  that  it  offered  peace  and 
a  welcome  home  made  it  all  the  more  terrible. 
"  I  came  to  take  this  step  through  young 
Hargraves,  the  new  curate,"  his  father  wrote, 
"though  he  was  but  the  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  Providence.  He  showed  me  the 
error  of  my  conduct  towards  you,  and  proved 
to  me  that  my  duty  and  the  inclination  of  my 
heart  were  towards  the  same  end.  He  read 
this  morning  for  the  second  lesson  the  story 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  and  I  heard  it  without 
recognition  and  with  no  present  application 
until  he  came  to  the  verse  which  tells  how 
the  father  came  to  his  son  '  when  he  was  yet 
a  great  way  off.'  He  saw  him,  it  says, '  when 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."     159 

he  was  yet  a  great  way  off,'  and  ran  to  meet 
him.  He  did  not  wait  for  the  boy  to  knock 
at  his  gate  and  beg  to  be  let  in,  but  went  out 
to  meet  him,  and  took  him  in  his  arms  and 
led  him  back  to  his  home.  Now,  my  boy,  my 
son,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  you  had  never  been 
so  far  off  from  me  as  you  are  at  this  present 
time,  as  if  you  had  never  been  so  greatly  sepa 
rated  from  me  in  every  thought  and  interest ; 
we  are  even  worse  than  strangers,  for  you 
think  that  my  hand  is  against  you,  that  I  have 
closed  the  door  of  your  home  to  you  and 
driven  you  away.  But  what  I  have  done  I 
beg  of  you  to  forgive ;  to  forget  what  1  may 
have  said  in  the  past,  and  only  to  think  of 
what  I  say  now.  Your  brothers  are  good 
boys  and  have  been  good  sons  to  me,  and 
God  knows  I  am  thankful  for  such  sons,  and 
thankful  to  them  for  bearing  themselves  as 
they  have  done. 

"  But,  my  boy,  my  first-born,  my  little 
Cecil,  they  can  never  be  to  me  what  you  have 
been.  I  can  never  feel  for  them  as  I  feel  for 
you ;  they  are  the  ninety  and  nine  who  have 
never  wandered  away  upon  the  mountains, 
and  who  have  never  been  tempted,  and  have 
never  left  their  home  for  either  good  or  evil. 


160     "THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINES* 

But  you,  Cecil,  though  you  have  made  my 
heart  ache  until  I  thought  and  even  hoped  it 
would  stop  beating,  and  though  you  have 
given  me  many,  many  nights  that  I  could  not 
sleep,  are  still  dearer  to  me  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.  You  are  the  flesh  of  my 
flesh  and  the  bone  of  my  bone,  and  I  cannot 
bear  living  on  without  you.  I  cannot  be  at 
rest  here,  or  look  forward  contentedly  to  a 
rest  hereafter,  unless  you  are  by  me  and  hear 
me,  unless  I  can  see  your  face  and  touch  you 
and  hear  your  laugh  in  the  halls.  Come  back 
to  me,  Cecil ;  to  Harringford  and  the  people 
that  know  you  best,  and  know  what  is  best  in 
you  and  love  you  for  it.  I  can  have  only  a 
few  more  years  here  now  when  you  will  take 
my  place  and  keep  up  my  name.  I  will  not 
be  here  to  trouble  you  much  longer  ;  but,  my 
boy,  while  I  am  here,  come  to  me  and  make 
me  happy  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  There  are 
others  who  need  you,  Cecil.  You  know  whom 
I  mean.  I  saw  her  only  yesterday,  and  she 
asked  me  of  you  with  such  splendid  disregard 
for  what  the  others  standing  by  might  think, 
and  as  though  she  dared  me  or  them  to  say 
or  even  imagine  anything  against  you.  You 
cannot  keep  away  from  us  both  much  longer. 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  161 

Surely  not ;  you  will  come  back  and  make  us 
happy  for  the  rest  of  our  lives." 

The  Goodwood  Plunger  turned  his  back  to 
the  lights  so  that  the  people  passing  could 
not  see  his  face,  and  tore  the  letter  up  slowly 
and  dropped  it  piece  by  piece  over  the  balcony. 
"If  I  could,"  he  whispered;  "if  I  could." 
The  pain  was  a  little  worse  than  usual  just 
then,  but  it  was  no  longer  a  question  of  in 
clination.  He  felt  only  this  desire  to  stop 
these  thoughts  and  doubts  and  the  physical 
tremor  that  shook  him.  To  rest  and  sleep, 
that  was  what  he  must  have,  and  peace. 
There  was  no  peace  at  home  or  anywhere  else 
while  this  thing  lasted.  He  could  not  see 
why  they  worried  him  in  this  way.  It  was 
quite  impossible.  He  felt  much  more  sorry 
for  them  than  for  himself,  but  only  because 
they  could  not  understand.  He  was  quite 
sure  that  if  they  could  feel  what  he  suffered 
they  would  help  him,  even  to  end  it. 

He  had  been  standing  for  some  time  with 
his  back  to  the  light,  but  now  he  turned  to 
face  it  and  to  take  up  his  watch  again.  He 
felt  quite  sure  the  lights  would  not  burn 
much  longer.  As  he  turned,  a  woman  came 
forward  from  out  the  lighted  hall,  hovered 


162     "  THERE  WEEE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

uncertainly  before  him,  and  then  made  a 
silent  salutation,  which  was  something  be 
tween  a  courtesy  and  a  bow.  That  she  was  a 
woman  and  rather  short  and  plainly  dressed, 
and  that  her  bobbing  up  and  down  annoyed 
him,  was  all  that  he  realized  of  her  presence, 
and  he  quite  failed  to  connect  her  movements 
with  himself  in  any  way.  "  Sir,"  she  said  in 
French,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  might  I 
speak  with  you?"  The  Goodwood  Plunger 
possessed  a  somewhat  various  knowledge  of 
Monte  Carlo  and  its  habituSs.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  that  women  who  had  lost  at  the  tables 
had  begged  a  napoleon  from  him,  or  asked 
the  distinguished  child  of  fortune  what  color 
or  combination  she  should  play.  That,  in  his 
luckier  days,  had  happened  often  and  had 
amused  him,  but  now  he  moved  back  irritably 
and  wished  that  the  figure  in  front  of  him 
would  disappear  as  it  had  come. 

"I  am  in  great  trouble,  sir,"  the  woman 
said.  "  I  have  no  friends  here,  sir,  to  whom  I 
may  apply.  I  am  very  bold,  but  my  anxiety 
is  very  great." 

The  Goodwood  Plunger  raised  his  hat 
slightly  and  bowed.  Then  he  concentrated 
his  eyes  with  what  was  a  distinct  effort  on  the 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE:1     163 

queer  little  figure  hovering  in  front  of  him, 
and  stared  very  hard.  She  wore  an  odd  piece 
of  red  coral  for  a  brooch,  and  by  looking 
steadily  at  this  he  brought  the  rest  of  the 
figure  into  focus  and  saw,  without  surprise,  — 
for  every  commonplace  seemed  strange  to  him 
now,  and  everything  peculiar  quite  a  matter 
of  course,  —  that  she  was  distinctly  not  an 
habituee  of  the  place,  and  looked  more  like  a 
lady's  maid  than  an  adventuress.  She  was 
French  and  pretty,  —  such  a  girl  as  might 
wait  in  a  Duval  restaurant  or  sit  as  a  cashier 
behind  a  little  counter  near  the  door. 

"  We  should  not  be  here,"  she  said,  as  if  in 
answer  to  his  look  and  in  apology  for  her 
presence.  "  But  Louis,  my  husband,  he  would 
come.  I  told  him  that  this  was  not  for  such 
as  we  are,  but  Louis  is  so  bold.  He  said  that 
upon  his  marriage  tour  he  would  live  with 
the  best,  and  so  here  he  must  come  to  play 
as  the  others  do.  We  have  been  married,  sir, 
only  since  Tuesday,  and  we  must  go  back  to 
Paris  to-morrow;  they  would  give  him  only 
the  three  days.  He  is  not  a  gambler;  he 
plays  dominos  at  the  cafe's,  it  is  true.  But 
what  will  you?  He  is  young  and  with  so 
much  spirit,  and  I  know  that  you,  sir,  who 


164  "  THEEE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

are  so  fortunate  and  who  understand  so  well 
how  to  control  these  tables,  I  know  that  you 
will  persuade  him.  He  will  not  listen  to  me  ; 
he  is  so  greatly  excited  and  so  little  like  him 
self.  You  will  help  me,  sir,  will  you  not? 
You  will  speak  to  him?" 

The  Goodwood  Plunger  knit  his  eyebrows 
and  closed  the  lids  once  or  twice,  and  forced 
the  mistiness  and  pain  out  of  his  eyes.  It 
was  most  annoying.  The  woman  seemed  to 
be  talking  a  great  deal  and  to  say  very  much, 
but  he  could  not  make  sense  of  it.  He  moved 
his  shoulders  slightly.  "I  can't  understand," 
he  said  wearily,  turning  away. 

"  It  is  my  husband,"  the  woman  said  anx 
iously  :  "  Louis,  he  is  playing  at  the  table 
inside,  and  he  is  only  an  apprentice  to  old 
Carbut  the  baker,  but  he  owns  a  third  of  the 
store.  It  was  my  dot  that  paid  for  it,"  she 
added  proudly.  "  Old  Carbut  says  he  may 
have  it  all  for  20,000  francs,  and  then  old 
Carbut  will  retire,  and  we  will  be  proprietors. 
We  have  saved  a  little,  and  we  had  counted 
to  buy  the  rest  in  five  or  six  years  if  we  were 
very  careful." 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  Plunger,  with  a  lit 
tle  short  laugh  of  relief;  "I  understand."  He 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  165 

was  greatly  comforted  to  think  that  it  was 
not  so  bad  as  it  had  threatened.  He  saw  her 
distinctly  now  and  followed  what  she  said 
quite  easily,  and  even  such  a  small  matter  as 
talking  with  this  woman  seemed  to  help  him. 

"  He  is  gambling,"  he  said,  "  and  losing 
the  money,  and  you  come  to  me  to  advise 
him  what  to  play.  I  understand.  Well, 
tell  him  he  will  lose  what  little  he  has  left ; 
tell  him  I  advise  him  to  go  home ;  tell  him  —  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  the  girl  said  excitedly ;  "  you  do 
not  understand ;  he  has  not  lost,  he  has  won. 
He  has  won,  oh,  so  many  rolls  of  money,  but 
he  will  not  stop.  Do  you  not  see  ?  He  has 
won  as  much  as  we  could  earn  in  many 
months  —  in  many  years,  sir,  by  saving  and 
working,  oh,  so  very  hard !  And  now  he  risks 
it  again,  and  I  cannot  force  him  away.  But 
if  you,  sir,  if  you  would  tell  him  how  great 
the  chances  are  against  him,  if  you  who  know 
would  tell  him  how  foolish  he  is  not  to  be 
content  with  what  he  has,  he  would  listen. 
He  says  to  me, 4  Bah !  you  are  a  woman ' ;  and 
he  is  so  red  and  fierce  ;  he  is  imbecile  with  the 
sight  of  the  money,  but  he  will  listen  to  a 
grand  gentleman  like  you.  He  thinks  to  win 
more  and  more,  and  he  thinks  to  buy  another 


166     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

third  from  old  Carbut.  Is  it  not  foolish  ?  It 
is  so  wicked  of  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Goodwood  Plunger, 
nodding,  "  I  see  now.  You  want  me  to  take 
him  away  so  that  he  can  keep  what  he  has. 
I  see ;  but  I  don't  know  him.  He  will  not 
listen  to  me,  you  know ;  I  have  no  right  to 
interfere." 

He  turned  away,  rubbing  his  hand  across 
his  forehead.  He  wished  so  much  that  this 
woman  would  leave  him  by  himself. 

"  Ah,  but,  sir,"  cried  the  girl,  desperately, 
and  touching  his  coat,  "  you  who  are  so  fortu 
nate,  and  so  rich,  and  of  the  great  world,  you 
cannot  feel  what  this  is  to  me.  To  have  my 
own  little  shop  and  to  be  free,  and  not  to 
slave,  and  sew,  and  sew  until  my  back  and 
fingers  burn  with  the  pain.  Speak  to  him,, 
sir ;  ah,  speak  to  him  !  It  is  so  easy  a  thing 
to  do,  and  he  will  listen  to  you." 

The  Goodwood  Plunger  turned  again 
abruptly.  "  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  said.  "  Point 
him  out  to  me." 

The  woman  ran  ahead,  with  a  murmur  of 
gratitude,  to  the  open  door  and  pointed  to 
where  her  husband  was  standing  leaning  over 
and  placing  some  money  on  one  of  the  tables. 


"  TIIEEE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."    167 

He  was  a  handsome  young  Frenchman,  as 
bourgeois  as  his  wife,  and  now  terribly  alive 
and  excited.  In  the  self-contained  air  of  the 
place  and  in  contrast  with  the  silence  of  the 
great  hall  he  seemed  even  more  conspicu 
ously  out  of  place.  The  Plunger  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  and  the  Frenchman  shoved 
the  hand  off  impatiently  and  without  looking 
around.  The  Plunger  touched  him  again 
and  forced  him  to  turn  towards  him. 

"  Well !  "  said  the  Frenchman,  quickly. 
"Well?" 

"  Madame,  your  wife,"  said  Cecil,  with  the 
grave  politeness  of  an  old  man,  "  has  done  me 
the  honor  to  take  me  into  her  confidence. 
She  tells  me  that  you  have  won  a  great  deal 
of  money ;  that  you  could  put  it  to  good  use 
at  home,  and  so  save  yourselves  much  drudg 
ery  and  debt,  and  all  that  sort  of  trouble. 
You  are  quite  right  if  you  say  it  is  no  con 
cern  of  mine.  It  is  not.  But  really,  you 
know  there  is  a  great 'deal  of  sense  in  what 
she  wants,  and  you  have  apparently  already 
won  a  large  sum." 

The  Frenchman  was  visibly  surprised  at 
this  approach.  He  paused  for  a  second  or 
two  in  some  doubt,  and  even  awe,  for  the  dis- 


168     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

inherited  one  carried  the  mark  of  a  personage 
of  consideration  and  of  one  whose  position  is 
secure.  Then  he  gave  a  short,  unmirthful 
laugh. 

"You  are  most  kind,  sir,"  he  said  with 
mock  politeness  and  with  an  impatient  shrug. 
"  But  madame,  my  wife,  has  not  done  well  to 
interest  a  stranger  in  this  affair,  which,  as 
you  say,  concerns  you  not." 

He  turned  to  the  table  again  with  a  defi 
ant  swagger  of  independence  and  placed  two 
rolls  of  money  upon  the  cloth,  casting  at  the 
same  moment  a  childish  look  of  displeasure 
at  his  wife.  "You  see,"  said  the  Plunger, 
with  a  deprecatory  turning  out  of  his  hands. 
But  there  was  so  much  grief  on  the  girl's 
face  that  he  turned  again  to  the  gambler  and 
touched  his  arm.  He  could  not  tell  why  he 
was  so  interested  in  these  two.  He  had  wit 
nessed  many  such  scenes  before,  and  they 
had  not  affected  him  in  any  way  except  to 
make  him  move  out  of  hearing.  But  the 
same  dumb  numbness  in  his  head,  which 
made  so  many  things  seem  possible  that 
should  have  been  terrible  even  to  think  upon, 
made  him  stubborn  and  unreasonable  over 
this.  He  felt  intuitively  —  it  could  not  be 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."    169 

said  that  he  thought  —  that  the  woman  was 
right  and  the  man  wrong,  and  so  he  grasped 
him  again  by  the  arm,  and  said  sharply  this 
time :  — 

"  Come  away !  Do  you  hear  ?  You  are 
acting  foolishly." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  red  won,  and  the 
Frenchman  with  a  boyish  gurgle  of  pleasure 
raked  in  his  winnings  with  his  two  hands, 
and  then  turned  with  a  happy,  triumphant 
laugh  to  his  wife.  It  is  not  easy  to  convince 
a  man  that  he  is  making  a  fool  of  himself 
when  he  is  winning  some  hundred  francs 
every  two  minutes.  His  silent  arguments  to 
the  contrary  are  difficult  to  answer.  But  the 
Plunger  did  not  regard  this  in  the  least. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  he  said  in  the  same 
stubborn  tone  and  with  much  the  same  man 
ner  with  which  he  would  have  spoken  to  a 
groom.  "  Come  away." 

Again  the  Frenchman  tossed  off  his  hand, 
this  time  with  an  execration,  and  again  he 
placed  the  rolls  of  gold  coin  on  the  red ;  and 
again  the  red  won. 

"  My  God ! "  cried  the  girl,  running  her 
fingers  over  the  rolls  on  the  table,  "  he 
has  won  half  of  the  20,000  francs.  Oh, 


170     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE:1 

sir,  stop  him,  stop  him !  "  she  cried.  "  Take 
him  away." 

"  Do  you  hear  me !  "  cried  the  Plunger, 
excited  to  a  degree  of  utter  self-forgetfulness, 
and  carried  beyond  himself ;  "  you've  got  to 
come  with  me." 

"Take  away  your  hand,"  whispered  the 
young  Frenchman,  fiercely.  "See,  I  shall 
win  it  all ;  in  one  grand  coup  I  shall  win  it 
all.  I  shall  win  five  years'  pay  in  one  mo 
ment." 

He  swept  all  of  the  money  forward  on  the 
red  and  threw  himself  over  the  table  to  see 
the  wheel. 

"  Wait,  confound  you !  "  whispered  the 
Plunger,  excitedly.  "  If  you  will  risk  it,  risk 
it  with  some  reason.  You  can't  play  all  that 
money;  they  won't  take  it.  Six  thousand 
francs  is  the  limit,  unless,"  he  ran  on  quickly, 
"you  divide  the  12,000  francs  among  the 
three  of  us.  You  understand,  6000  francs 
is  all  that  any  one  person  can  play;  but 
if  you  give  4000  to  me,  and  4000  to  your 
wife,  and  keep  4000  yourself,  we  can  each 
chance  it.  You  can  back  the  red  if  you  like, 
your  wife  shall  put  her  money  on  the  num 
bers  coming  up  below  eighteen,  and  I  will 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  171 

back  the  odd.  In  that  way  you  stand  to  win 
24,000  francs  if  our  combination  wins,  and 
you  lose  less  than  if  you  simply  back  the 
color.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  Frenchman,  reaching  for 
the  piles  of  money  which  the  Plunger  had 
divided  rapidly  into  three  parts,  "on  the  red; 
all  on  the  red  !  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  man  ! "  cried  the  Plunger, 
bitterly.  "  I  may  not  know  much,  but  you 
should  allow  me  to  understand  this  dirty 
business."  He  caught  the  Frenchman  by 
the  wrists,  and  the  young  man,  more  im 
pressed  with  the  strange  look  in  the  boy's 
face  than  by  his  physical  force,  stood  still, 
while  the  ball  relied  and  rolled,  and  clicked 
merrily,  and  stopped,  and  balanced,  and  then 
settled  into  the  "  seven." 

"  Red,  odd,  and  below,"  the  croupier  droned 
mechanically. 

"  Ah !  you  see  ;  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  said 
the  Plunger,  with  sudden  calmness.  "You 
have  won  more  than  your  20,000  francs ;  you 
are  proprietors  —  I  congratulate  you !  " 

"  Ah,  my  God ! "  cried  the  Frenchman,  in  a 
frenzy  of  delight,  "  I  will  double  it." 

He  reached  towards  the  fresh  piles  of  coin 


172     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE:1 

as  if  he  meant  to  sweep  them  back  again,  but 
the  Plunger  put  himself  in  his  way  and  with 
a  quick  movement  caught  up  the  rolls  of 
money  and  dropped  them  into  the  skirt  of 
the  woman,  which  she  raised  like  an  apron 
to  receive  her  treasure. 

"  Now,"  said  young  Harringford,  deter 
minedly,  "  you  come  with  me."  The  French 
man  tried  to  argue  and  resist,  but  the  Plunger 
pushed  him  on  with  the  silent  stubbornness 
of  a  drunken  man.  He  handed  the  woman 
into  a  carriage  at  the  door,  shoved  her  hus 
band  in  beside  her,  and  while  the  man  drove 
to  the  address  she  gave  him,  he  told  the 
Frenchman,  with  an  air  of  a  chief  of  police, 
that  he  must  leave  Monte  Carlo  at  once,  that 
very  night. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Do  you  fancy  I  speak  without  knowledge  ? 
I've  seen  them  come  here  rich  and  go  away 
paupers.  But  you  shall  not ;  you  shall  keep 
what  you  have  and  spite  them."  He  sent 
the  woman  up  to  her  room  to  pack  while  he 
expostulated  with  and  browbeat  the  excited 
bridegroom  in  the  carriage.  When  she  re 
turned  with  the  bag  packed,  and  so  heavy 
with  the  gold  that  the  servants  could  hardly 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  173 

lift  it  up  beside  the  driver,  he  ordered  the 
coachman  to  go  down  the  hill  to  the  station. 

"  The  train  for  Paris  leaves  at  midnight," 
he  said,  "  and  you  will  be  there  by  morning. 
Then  you  must  close  your  bargain  with  this 
old  Carbut,  and  never  return  here  again." 

The  Frenchman  had  turned  during  the  ride 
from  an  angry,  indignant  prisoner  to  a  joy 
ful  madman,  and  was  now  tearfully  and  effu 
sively  humble  in  his  petitions  for  pardon  and 
in  his  thanks.  Their  benefactor,  as  they  were 
pleased  to  call  him,  hurried  them  into  the 
waiting  train  and  ran  to  purchase  their  tick 
ets  for  them. 

"Now,"  he  said,  as  the  guard  locked  the 
door  of  the  compartment,  uyou  are  alone, 
and  no  one  can  get  in,  and  you  cannot  get 
out.  Go  back  to  your  home,  to  your  new 
home,  and  never  come  to  this  wretched  place 
again.  Promise  me — you  understand?  — 
never  again ! " 

They  promised  with  effusive  reiteration. 
They  embraced  each  other  like  children,  and 
the  man,  pulling  off  his  hat,  called  upon  the 
good  Lord  to  thank  the  gentleman. 

"  You  will  be  in  Paris,  will  you  not  ?  "  said 
the  woman,  in  an  ecstasy  of  pleasure,  "and 


174     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE." 

you  will  come  to  see  us  in  our  own  shop,  will 
you  not  ?  Ah !  we  should  be  so  greatly  hon 
ored,  sir,  if  you  would  visit  us ;  if  you  would 
come  to  the  home  you  have  given  us.  You 
have  helped  us  so  greatly,  sir,"  she  said ; 
"  and  may  Heaven  bless  you !  " 

She  caught  up  his  gloved  hand  as  it  rested 
on  the  door  and  kissed  it  until  he  snatched  it 
away  in  great  embarrassment  and  flushing 
like  a  girl.  Her  husband  drew  her  towards 
him,  and  the  young  bride  sat  at  his  side  with 
her  face  close  to  his  and  wept  tears  of  pleas 
ure  and  of  excitement. 

"  Ah,  look,  sir !  "  said  the  young  man,  joy 
fully  ;  "  look  how  happy  you  have  made  us. 
You  have  made  us  happy  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives." 

The  train  moved  out  with  a  quick,  heavy 
rush,  and  the  car-wheels  took  up  the  young 
stranger's  last  words  and  seemed  to  say, 
"  You  have  made  us  happy  —  made  us  happy 
for  the  rest  of  our  lives." 

It  had  all  come  about  so  rapidly  that  the 
Plunger  had  had  no  time  to  consider  or  to 
weigh  his  motives,  and  all  that  seemed  real 
to  him  now,  as  he  stood  alone  on  the  plat 
form  of  the  dark,  deserted  station,  were  the 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE.11     175 

words  of  the  man  echoingand  re-echoing  like 
the  refrain  of  the  song.  And  then  there 
came  to  him  suddenly,  and  with  all  the  force 
of  a  gambler's  superstition,  the  thought  that 
the  words  were  the  same  as  those  which  his 
father  had  used  in  his  letter,  "you  can  make 
us  happy  for  the  rest  of  our  lives." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  with  a  quick  gasp  of  doubt, 
"  if  I  could !  If  I  made  those  poor  fools 
happy,  mayn't  I  live  to  be  something  to  him, 
and  to  her?  O  God!"  he  cried,  but  so 
gently  that  one  at  his  elbow  could  not  have 
heard  him,  "  if  I  could,  if  I  could ! " 

He  tossed  up  his  hands,  and  drew  them 
down  again  and  clenched  them  in  front  of 
him,  and  raised  his  tired,  hot  eyes  to  the  calm 
purple  sky  with  its  millions  of  moving  stars. 
"  Help  me !  "  he  whispered  fiercely,  "  help 
me."  And  as  he  lowered  his  head  the  queer 
numb  feeling  seemed  to  go,  and  a  calm  came 
over  his  nerves  and  left  him  in  peace.  He 
did  not  know  what  it  might  be,  nor  did  he 
dare  to  question  the  change  which  had  come 
to  him,  but  turned  and  slowly  mounted  the 
hill,  with  the  awe  and  fear  still  upon  him  of 
one  who  had  passed  beyond  himself  for  one 
brief  moment  into  another  world.  When  he 


176     "  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  WINE." 

reached  his  room  he  found  his  servant  bend 
ing  with  an  anxious  face  over  a  letter  which 
he  tore  up  guiltily  as  his  master  entered. 
"  You  were  writing  to  my  father,"  said  Cecil, 
gently,  "  were  you  not  ?  Well,  you  need  not 
finish  your  letter ;  we  are  going  home. 

"I  am  going  away  from  this  place,  Wal 
ters,"  he  said  as  he  pulled  off  his  coat  and 
threw  himself  heavily  on  the  bed.  "  I  will 
take  the  first  train  that  leaves  here,  and  I 
will  sleep  a  little  while  you  put  up  my  things. 
The  first  train,  you  understand  —  within  an 
hour,  if  it  leaves  that  soon."  His  head  sank 
back  on  the  pillows  heavily,  as  though  he 
had  come  in  from  a  long,  weary  walk,  and  his 
eyes  closed  and  his  arms  fell  easily  at  his 
side.  The  servant  stood  frightened  and  yet 
happy,  with  the  tears  running  down  his 
cheeks,  for  he  loved  his  master  dearly. 

"  We  are  going  home,  Walters,"  the  Plun 
ger  whispered  drowsily.  "  We  are  going 
home ;  home  to  England  and  Harringford 
and  the  governor  —  and  we  are  going  to  be 
happy  for  all  the  rest  of  our  lives."  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  Walters  bent  forward 
over  the  bed  and  held  his  breath  to  listen. 

"  For  he  came  to  me,"  murmured  the  boy, 


"  THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE."  177 

as  though  he  was  speaking  in  his  sleep, 
"  when  I  was  yet  a  great  way  off  —  while  I 
was  yet  a  great  way  off,  and  ran  to  meet 


me—" 


His  voice  sank  until  it  died  away  into 
silence,  and  a  few  hours  later,  when  Walters 
came  to  wake  him,  he  found  his  master  sleep 
ing  like  a  child  and  smiling  in  his  sleep. 


THE    CYNICAL   MISS  GATHER  - 
WAIGHT. 


Miss  CATHERWAIGHT'S  collection  of  or 
ders  and  decorations  and  medals  was  her 
chief  offence  in  the  eyes  of  those  of  her  dear 
friends  who  thought  her  clever  but  cynical. 

All  of  them  were  willing  to  admit  that  she 
was  clever,  but  some  of  them  said  she  was 
clever  only  to  be  unkind. 

Young  Van  Bibber  had  said  that  if  Miss 
Catherwaight  did  not  like  dances  and  days  and 
teas,  she  had  only  to  stop  going  to  them  instead 
of  making  unpleasant  remarks  about  those 
who  did.  So  many  people  repeated  this  that 
young  Van  Bibber  believed  finally  that  he 
had  said  something  good,  and  was  somewhat 
pleased  in  consequence,  as  he  was  not  much 
given  to  that  sort  of  thing. 

Mrs.  Catherwaight,  while  she  was  alive, 
lived  solely  for  society,  and,  so  some  people 
said,  not  only  lived  but  died  for  it.  She  cer 
tainly  did  go  about  a  great  deal,  and  she  used 
178 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT.    179 

to  carry  her  husband  away  from  his  library 
every  night  of  every  season  and  left  him 
standing  in  the  doorways  of  drawing-rooms, 
outwardly  courteous  and  distinguished  look 
ing,  but  inwardly  somnolent  and  unhappy. 
She  was  a  born  and  trained  social  leader,  and 
her  daughter's  coming  out  was  to  have  been 
the  greatest  effort  of  her  life.  She  regarded 
it  as  an  event  in  the  dear  child's  lifetime  sec 
ond  only  in  importance  to  her  birth ;  equally 
important  with  her  probable  marriage  and  of 
much  more  poignant  interest  than  her  possi 
ble  death.  But  the  great  effort  proved  too 
much  for  the  mother,  and  she  died,  fondly 
remembered  by  her  peers  and  tenderly  referred 
to  by  a  great  many  people  who  could  not  even 
show  a  card  for  her  Thursdays.  Her  husband 
and  her  daughter  were  not  going  out,  of  ne 
cessity,  for  more  than  a  year  after  her  death, 
and  then  felt  no  inclination  to  begin  over 
again,  but  lived  very  much  together  and  showed 
themselves  only  occasionally. 

They  entertained,  though,  a  great  deal,  in 
the  way  of  dinners,  and  an  invitation  to  one 
of  these  dinners  soon  became  a  diploma  for 
intellectual  as  well  as  social  qualifications  of 
a  very  high  order. 


180    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT. 

One  was  always  sure  of  meeting  some  one 
of  consideration  there,  which  was  pleasant  in 
itself,  arid  also  rendered  it  easy  to  let  one's 
friends  know  where  one  had  been  dining.  It 
sounded  so  flat  to  boast  abruptly,  "I  dined  at 
the  Catherwaights'  last  night " ;  while  it  seemed 
only  natural  to  remark,  "That  reminds  me  of 
a  story  that  novelist,  what's  his  name,  told  at 
Mr.  Catherwaight's,"  or  "  That  English  chap, 
who's  been  in  Africa,  was  at  the  Catherwaights' 
the  other  night,  and  told  me  —  " 

After  one  of  these  dinners  people  always 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  look  over  Miss  Cath 
erwaight's  collection,  of  which  almost  every 
body  had  heard.  It  consisted  of  over  a  hundred 
medals  and  decorations  which  Miss  Cather- 
waight  had  purchased  while  on  the  long  tours 
she  made  with  her  father  in  all  parts  of  the 
world.  Each  of  them  had  been  given  as  a 
reward  for  some  public  service,  as  a  recognition 
of  some  virtue  of  the  highest  order  —  for  per 
sonal  bravery,  for  statesmanship,  for  great 
genius  in  the  arts ;  and  each  had  been  pawned 
by  the  recipient  or  sold  outright.  Miss  Gath 
er  waight  referred  to  them  as  her  collection  of 
dishonored  honors,  and  called  them  variously 
her  Orders  of  the  Knights  of  the  Almighty 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATUEEWAIGHT.    181 

Dollar,  pledges  to  patriotism  and  the  pawn 
shops,  and  honors  at  second  hand. 

It  was  her  particular  fad  to  get  as  many  of 
these  together  as  she  could  and  to  know  the 
story  of  each.  The  less  creditable  the  story, 
the  more  highly  she  valued  the  medal.  Peo 
ple  might  think  it  was  not  a  pretty  hobby  for 
a  young  girl,  but  they  could  not  help  smiling 
at  the  stories  and  at  the  scorn  with  which  she 
told  them. 

"These,"  she  would  say,  "are  crosses  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor ;  they  are  of  the  lowest 
degree,  that  of  chevalier.  I  keep  them  in 
this  cigar  box  to  show  how  cheaply  I  got 
them  and  how  cheaply  I  hold  them.  I  think 
you  can  get  them  here  in  New  York  for  ten 
dollars ;  they  cost  more  than  that  —  about  a 
hundred  francs — in  Paris.  At  second-hand, 
of  course.  The  French  government  can  im 
prison  you,  you  know,  for  ten  years,  if  you 
wear  one  without  the  right  to  do  so,  but  they 
have  no  punishment  for  those  who  choose  to 
part  with  them  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 

"  All  these,"  she  would  run  on,  "  are  Eng 
lish  war  medals.  See,  on  this  one  is  '  Alma,' 
4  Balaclava,'  and  '  Sebastopol.'  He  was  quite 
a  veteran,  was  he  not?  Well,  he  sold  this 


182    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGKT. 

to  a  dealer  on  Wardour  Street,  London,  for 
five  and  six.  You  can  get  any  number  of 
them  on  the  Bowery  for  their  weight  in 
silver.  I  tried  very  hard  to  get  a  Victoria 
Cross  when  I  was  in  England,  and  I  only 
succeeded  in  getting  this  one  after  a  great 
deal  of  trouble.  They  value  the  cross  so 
highly,  you  know,  that  it  is  the  only  other 
decoration  in  the  case  which  holds  the  Order 
of  the  Garter  in  the  Jewel  Room  at  the 
Tower.  It  is  made  of  copper,  so  that  its  in 
trinsic  value  won't  have  any  weight  with  the 
man  who  gets  it,  but  I  bought  this  neverthe 
less  for  five  pounds.  The  soldier  to  whom 
it  belonged  had  loaded  and  fired  a  cannon 
all  alone  when  the  rest  of  the  men  about  the 
battery  had  run  away.  He  was  captured  by 
the  enemy,  but  retaken  immediately  afterward 
by  re-enforcements  from  his  own  side,  and 
the  general  in  command  recommended  him 
to  the  Queen  for  decoration.  He  sold  his 
cross  to  the  proprietor  of  a  curiosity  shop  and 
drank  himself  to  death.  I  felt  rather  meanly 
about  keeping  it  and  hunted  up  his  widow  to 
return  it  to  her,  but  she  said  I  could  have  it 
for  a  consideration. 

"This  gold  medal  was  given,  as  you  see,  to 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT.    183 

'Hiram  J.  Stillman,  of  the  sloop  Annie  Barker, 
for  saving  the  crew  of  the  steamship  Olivia, 
June  18,  1888,'  by  the  President  of  the 
United  States  and  both  houses  of  Congress, 
I  found  it  on  Baxter  Street  in  a  pawnshop. 
The  gallant  Hiram  J.  had  pawned  it  for  six 
teen  dollars  and  never  came  back  to  claim 
it." 

"But,  Miss  Catherwaight,"  some  optimist 
would  object,  "  these  men  undoubtedly  did 
do  something  brave  and  noble  once.  You 
can't  get  back  of  that ;  and  they  didn't  do  it 
for  a  medal,  either,  but  because  it  was  their 
duty.  And  so  the  medal  meant  nothing  to 
them :  their  conscience  told  them  they  had 
done  the  right  thing ;  they  didn't  need  a 
stamped  coin  to  remind  them  of  it,  or  of  their 
wounds  either,  perhaps." 

"  Quite  right ;  that's  quite  true,"  Miss 
Catherwaight  would  say.  "But  how  about 
this  ?  Look  at  this  gold  medal  with  the  dia 
monds  :  '  Presented  to  Colonel  James  F.  Pla- 
cerl  by  the  men  of  his  regiment,  in  camp 
before  Richmond.'  Every  soldier  in  the  regi 
ment  gave  something  towards  that,  and  yet 
the  brave  gentleman  put  it  up  at  a  game  of 
poker  one  night,  and  the  officer  who  won  it 


18-4    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATEERWAIGHT. 

sold  it  to  the  man  who  gave  it  to  me.     Can 
you  defend  that  ?  " 

Miss  Catherwaight  was  well  known  to  the 
proprietors  of  the  pawnshops  and  loan  offices 
on  the  Bowery  and  Park  Row.  They  learned 
to  look  for  her  once  a  month,  and  saved  what 
medals  they  received  for  her  and  tried  to 
learn  their  stories  from  the  people  who 
pawned  them,  or  else  invented  some  story 
which  they  hoped  would  answer  just  as  well. 

Though  her  brougham  produced  a  sensa 
tion  in  the  unfashionable  streets  into  which 
she  directed  it,  she  was  never  annoyed.  Her 
maid  went  with  her  into  the  shops,  and  one 
of  the  grooms  always  stood  at  the  door  within 
call,  to  the  intense  delight  of  the  neighbor 
hood.  And  one  day  she  found  what,  from 
her  point  of  view,  was  a  perfect  gem.  It  was 
a  poor,  cheap-looking,  tarnished  silver  medal, 
a  half-dollar  once,  undoubtedly,  beaten  out 
roughly  into  the  shape  of  a  heart  and  en 
graved  in  script  by  the  jeweller  of  some 
country  town.  On  one  side  were  two  clasped 
hands  with  a  wreath  around  them,  and  on 
the  reverse  was  this  inscription:  "From 
Henry  Burgoyne  to  his  beloved  friend  Lewis 
L.  Lock  wood  " ;  and  below,  "  Through  pros- 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT.    185 

perity  and  adversity."  That  was  all.  And 
here  it  was  among  razors  and  pistols  and 
family  Bibles  in  a  pawnbroker's  window. 
What  a  story  there  was  in  that !  These  two 
boy  friends,  and  their  boyish  friendship  that 
was  to  withstand  adversity  and  prosperity, 
and  all  that  remained  of  it  was  this  inscrip 
tion  to  its  memory  like  the  wording  on  a 
tomb! 

"  He  couldn't  have  got  so  much  on  it  any 
way,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  entering  into  her 
humor.  "  I  didn't  lend  him  more'n  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar  at  the  most." 

Miss  Catherwaight  stood  wondering  if  the 
Lewis  L.  Lockwood  could  be  Lewis  Lock- 
wood,  the  lawyer  one  read  so  much  about. 
Then  she  remembered  his  middle  name  was 
Lyman,  and  said  quickly,  "  I'll  take  it,  please." 

She  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  told  the 
man  to  go  find  a  directory  and  look  for  Lewis 
Lyman  Lockwood.  The  groom  returned  in 
a  few  minutes  and  said  there  was  such  a 
name  down  in  the  book  as  a  lawyer,  and  that 
his  office  was  such  a  number  on  Broadway ; 
it  must  be  near  Liberty.  "Go  there,"  said 
Miss  Catherwaight. 

Her  determination  was   made   so   quickly 


186    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWA1GHT. 

that  they  had  stopped  in  front  of  a  huge  pile 
of  offices,  sandwiched  in,  one  above  the  other, 
until  they  towered  mountains  high,  before  she 
had  quite  settled  in  her  mind  what  she  wanted 
to  know,  or  had  appreciated  how  strange  her 
errand  might  appear.  Mr.  Lockwood  was 
out,  one  of  the  young  men  in  the  outer  office 
said,  but  the  junior  partner,  Mr.  Latimer,  was 
in  and  would  see  her.  She  had  only  time  to 
remember  that  the  junior  partner  was  a  dancing 
acquaintance  of  hers,  before  young  Mr.  Lati 
mer  stood  before  her  smiling,  and  with  her 
card  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Lockwood  is  out  just  at  present,  Miss 
Catherwaight,"  he  said,  u  but  he  will  be  back 
in  a  moment.  Won't  you  come  into  the 
other  room  and  wait?  I  am  sure  he  won't 
be  away  over  five  minutes.  Or  is  it  some 
thing  I  could  do  ?  " 

She  saw  that  he  was  surprised  to  see  her, 
and  a  little  ill  at  ease  as  to  just  how  to  take 
her  visit.  He  tried  to  make  it  appear  that 
he  considered  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world,  but  he  overdid  it,  and  she  saw  that 
her  presence  was  something  quite  out  of  the 
common.  This  did  not  tend  to  set  her  any 
more  at  her  ease.  She  already  regretted  the 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT.    187 

step  she  had  taken.  What  if  it  should  prove 
to  be  the  same  Lockwood,  she  thought,  and 
what  would  they  think  of  her? 

"  Perhaps  you  will  do  better  than  Mr. 
Lockwood,"  she  said,  as  she  followed  him  into 
the  inner  office.  "  I  fear  I  have  come  upon  a 
very  foolish  errand,  and  one  that  has  nothing 
at  all  to  do  with  the  law." 

"Not  a  breach  of  promise  suit,  then?"  said 
young  Latimer,  with  a  smile.  "  Perhaps  it  is 
only  an  innocent  subscription  to  a  most  worthy 
charity.  I  was  afraid  at  first,"  he  went  on 
lightly,  "  that  it  was  legal  redress  you  wanted, 
and  I  was  hoping  that  the  way  I  led  the  Cour- 
dert's  cotillion  had  made  you  think  I  could 
conduct  you  through  the  mazes  of  the  law  as 
well." 

"  No,"  returned  Miss  Catherwaight,  with  a 
nervous  laugh ;  "  it  has  to  do  with  my  unfor 
tunate  collection.  This  is  what  brought  me 
here,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  silver  medal. 
" 1  came  across  it  just  now  in  the  Bowery. 
The  name  was  the  same,  and  I  thought  it  just 
possible  Mr.  Lockwood  would  like  to  have  it; 
or,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  that  he  might  tell  me 
what  had  become  of  the  Henry  Burgoyne  who 
gave  it  to  him." 


188    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT. 

Young  Latimer  had  the  medal  in  his  hand 
before  she  had  finished  speaking,  and  was  ex 
amining  it  carefully.  He  looked  up  with  just 
a  touch  of  color  in  his  cheeks  and  straightened 
himself  visibly. 

"Please  don't  be  offended,"  said  tne  fair 
collector.  "  I  know  what  you  think.  You've 
heard  of  my  stupid  collection,  and  I  know 
you  think  I  meant  to  add  this  to  it.  But,  in 
deed,  now  that  I  have  had  time  to  think  — 
you  see  I  came  here  immediately  from  the 
pawnshop,  and  I  was  so  interested,  like  all 
collectors,  you  know,  that  I  didn't  stop  to 
consider.  That's  the  worst  of  a  hobby ;  it 
carries  one  rough-shod  over  other  people's 
feelings,  and  runs  away  with  one.  I  beg  of 
you,  if  you  do  know  anything  about  the  coin, 
just  to  keep  it  and  don't  tell  me,  and  I  assure 
you  what  little  I  know  I  will  keep  quite  to 
myself." 

Young  Latimer  bowed,  and  stood  looking 
at  her  curiously,  with  the  medal  in  his  hand. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  he  began 
slowly.  "  It  really  has  a  story.  You  say  you 
found  this  on  the  Bowery,  in  a  pawnshop. 
Indeed!  Well,  of  course,  you  know  Mr. 
Lockwood  could  not  have  left  it  there." 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT.    189 

Miss  Catherwaight  shook  her  head  vehe 
mently  and  smiled  in  deprecation. 

"  This  medal  was  in  his  safe  when  he  lived 
on  Thirty-fifth  Street  at  the  time  he  was 
lobbed,  and  the  burglars  took  this  with  the 
rest  of  the  silver  and  pawned  it,  I  suppose. 
Mr.  Lockwood  would  have  given  more  for  it 
than  any  one  else  could  have  afforded  to  pay." 
He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  continued 
more  rapidly:  "Henry  Burgoyne  is  Judge 
Burgoyne.  Ah!  you  didn't  guess  that?  Yes, 
Mr.  Lockwood  and  he  were  friends  when  they 
were  boys.  They  went  to  school  in  West- 
chester  County.  They  were  Damon  and 
Pythias  and  that  sort  of  thing.  They  roomed 
together  at  the  State  college  and  started  to 
practise  law  in  Tuckahoe  as  a  firm,  but  they 
made  nothing  of  it,  and  came  on  to  New  York 
and  began  reading  law  again  with  Fuller  & 
Mowbray.  It  was  while  they  w^ere  at  school 
that  they  had  these  medals  made.  There  was 
a  mate  to  this,  you  know ;  Judge  Burgoyne 
had  it.  Well,  they  continued  to  live  and 
work  together.  They  were  both  orphans  and 
dependent  on  themselves.  I  suppose  that  was 
one  of  the  strongest  bonds  between  them ; 
and  they  knew  no  one  in  New  York,  and 


188    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEKWAIGHT. 

Young  Latimer  had  the  medal  in  his  hand 
before  she  had  finished  speaking,  and  was  ex 
amining  it  carefully.  He  looked  up  with  just 
a  touch  of  color  in  his  cheeks  and  straightened 
himself  visibly. 

"Please  don't  be  offended,"  said  tne  fair 
collector.  "  I  know  what  you  think.  You've 
heard  of  my  stupid  collection,  and  I  know 
you  think  I  meant  to  add  this  to  it.  But,  in 
deed,  now  that  I  have  had  time  to  think  — • 
you  see  I  came  here  immediately  from  the 
pawnshop,  and  I  was  so  interested,  like  all 
collectors,  you  know,  that  I  didn't  stop  to 
consider.  That's  the  worst  of  a  hobby ;  it 
carries  one  rough-shod  over  other  people's 
feelings,  and  runs  away  with  one.  I  beg  of 
you,  if  you  do  know  anything  about  the  coin, 
just  to  keep  it  and  don't  tell  me,  and  I  assure 
you  what  little  I  know  I  will  keep  quite  to 
myself." 

Young  Latimer  bowed,  and  stood  looking 
at  her  curiously,  with  the  medal  in  his  hand. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  he  began 
slowly.  "  It  really  has  a  story.  You  say  you 
found  this  on  the  Bowery,  in  a  pawnshop. 
Indeed!  Well,  of  course,  you  know  Mr. 
Lockwood  could  not  have  left  it  there." 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT.    189 

Miss  Catherwaight  shook  her  head  vehe 
mently  and  smiled  in  deprecation. 

"  This  medal  was  in  his  safe  when  he  lived 
on  Thirty-fifth  Street  at  the  time  he  was 
lobbed,  and  the  burglars  took  this  with  the 
rest  of  the  silver  and  pawned  it,  I  suppose. 
Mr.  Lockwood  would  have  given  more  for  it 
than  any  one  else  could  have  afforded  to  pay." 
He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  continued 
more  rapidly:  "Henry  Burgoyne  is  Judge 
Burgoyne.  Ah!  you  didn't  guess  that?  Yes, 
Mr.  Lockwood  and  he  were  friends  when  they 
were  boys.  They  went  to  school  in  West- 
chester  County.  They  were  Damon  and 
Pythias  and  that  sort  of  thing.  They  roomed 
together  at  the  State  college  and  started  to 
practise  law  in  Tuckahoe  as  a  firm,  but  they 
made  nothing  of  it,  and  came  on  to  New  York 
and  began  reading  law  again  with  Fuller  & 
Mowbray.  It  was  while  they  were  at  school 
that  they  had  these  medals  made.  There  was 
a  mate  to  this,  you  know ;  Judge  Burgoyne 
had  it.  Well,  they  continued  to  live  and 
work  together.  They  were  both  orphans  and 
dependent  on  themselves.  I  suppose  that  was 
one  of  the  strongest  bonds  between  them ; 
and  they  knew  no  one  in  New  York,  and 


192    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT. 

was  much  that  he  had  not  told  her,  she  sus 
pected,  and  when  she  bade  him  good  by  it 
was  with  a  reserve  which  she  had  not  shown 
at  any  other  time  during  their  interview. 

"I  wonder  who  that  woman  was?"  she 
murmured,  as  young  Latimer  turned  from  the 
brougham  door  and  said  "Home,"  to  the 
groom.  She  thought  about  it  a  great  deal 
that  afternoon;  at  times  she  repented  that 
she  had  given  up  the  medal,  and  at  times  she 
blushed  that  she  should  have  been  carried  in 
her  zeal  into  such  an  unwarranted  intimacy 
with  another's  story. 

She  determined  finally  to  ask  her  father 
about  it.  He  would  be  sure  to  know,  she 
thought,  as  he  and  Mr.  Lock  wood  were  con 
temporaries.  Then  she  decided  finally  not  to 
say  anything  about  it  at  all,  for  Mr.  Gather- 
waight  did  not  approve  of  the  collection  o£ 
dishonored  honors  as  it  was,  and  she  had  no 
desire  to  prejudice  him  still  further  by  a  re 
cital  of  her  afternoon's  adventure,  of  which 
she  had  no  doubt  but  he  would  also  disap 
prove.  So  she  was  more  than  usually  silent 
during  the  dinner,  which  was  a  tete-a-tete 
.family  dinner  that  night,  and  she  allowed  her 
father  to  doze  after  it  in  the  library  in  his 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT.    193 

great  chair  without  disturbing  him  with  either 
questions  or  confessions. 

They  had  been  sitting  there  some  time,  he 
with  his  hands  folded  on  the  evening  paper 
and  with  his  eyes  closed,  when  the  servant 
brought  in  a  card  and  offered  it  to  Mr.  Cath- 
erwaight.  Mr.  Catherwaight  fumbled  over 
his  glasses,  and  read  the  name  on  the  card 
aloud:  "'Mr.  Lewis  L.  Lockwood.'  Dear 
me  !  "  he  said ;  "  what  can  Mr.  Lockwood  be 
calling  upon  me  about  ?  " 

Miss  Catherwaight  sat  upright,  and  reached 
out  for  the  card  with  a  nervous,  gasping  little 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  must  be  for  me,"  she  said  ; 
"  I'm  quite  sure  it  is  intended  for  me.  I  was 
at  his  office  to-day,  you  see,  to  return  him 
some  keepsake  of  his  that  I  found  in  an  old 
curiosity  shop.  Something  with  his  name  on 
it  that  had  been  stolen  from  him  and  pawned. 
It  was  just  a  trifle.  You  needn't  go  down, 
dear;  I'll  see  him.  It  was  I  he  asked  for, 
I'm  sure ;  was  it  not,  Morris  ?  " 

Morris  was  not  quite  sure ;  being  such  an 
old  gentleman,  he  thought  it  must  be  for  Mr. 
Catherwaight  he'd  come. 

Mr.  Catherwaight  was  not  greatly  inter- 


194    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT. 

ested.  He  did  not  like  to  disturb  his  after- 
dinner  nap,  and  he  settled  back  in  his  chair 
again  and  refolded  his  hands. 

"  I  hardly  thought  he  could  have  come  to 
see  me,"  he  murmured,  drowsily ;  "  though  I 
used  to  see  enough  and  more  than  enough  of 
Lewis  Lockwood  once,  my  dear,"  he  added 
with  a  smile,  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and  nodded 
before  he  shut  them  again.  "That  was  be 
fore  your  mother  and  I  were  engaged,  and 
people  did  say  that  young  Lockwood's  chances 
at  that  time  were  as  good  as  mine.  But  they 
weren't,  it  seems.  He  was  very  attentive, 
though ;  very  attentive." 

Miss  Catherwaight  stood  startled  and  mo 
tionless  at  the  door  from  which  she  had  turned. 

"Attentive — to  whom  ?  "  she  asked  quickly, 
and  in  a  very  low  voice.  "  To  my  mother  ?  " 

Mr.  Catherwaight  did  not  deign  to  open 
his  eyes  this  time,  but  moved  his  head  uneas 
ily  as  if  he  wished  to  be  let  alone. 

"  To  your  mother,  of  course,  my  child,"  he 
answered ;  "  of  whom  else  was  I  speaking  ?  " 

Miss  Catherwaight  went  down  the  stairs 
to  the  drawing-room  slowly,  arid  paused  half 
way  to  allow  this  new  suggestion  to  settle  in 
her  mind.  There  was  something  distasteful 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  GATHER  WA1GELT.    195 

to  her,  something  that  seemed  not  altogether 
unblamable,  in  a  woman's  having  two  men 
quarrel  about  her,  neither  of  whom  was  the 
woman's  husband.  And  yet  this  girl  of  whom 
Latimer  had  spoken  must  be  her  mother,  and 
she,  of  course,  could  do  no  wrong.  It  was  very 
disquieting,  and  she  went  on  down  the  rest 
of  the  way  with  one  hand  resting  heavily  on 
the  railing  and  with  the  other  pressed  against 
her  cheeks.  She  was  greatly  troubled.  It 
now  seemed  to  her  very  sad  indeed  that  these 
two  one-time  friends  should  live  in  the  same 
city  and  meet,  as  they  must  meet,  and  not 
recognize  each  other.  She  argued  that  her 
mother  must  have  been  very  young  when  it 
happened,  or  she  would  have  brought  two 
such  men  together  again.  Her  mother  could 
not  have  known,  she  told  herself;  she  was 
not  to  blame .  For  she  felt  sure  that  had 
she  herself  known  of  such  an  accident  she 
would  have  done  something,  said  something, 
to  make  it  right.  And  she  was  not  half  the 
woman  her  mother  had  been,  she  was  sure  of 
that. 

There  was  something  very  likable  in  the 
old  gentleman  who  came  forward  to  greet  her 
as  she  entered  the  drawing-room ;  something 


196    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEBWAIGHT. 

courtly  and  of  the  old  school,  of  which  she 
was  so  tired  of  hearing,  but  of  which  she 
wished  she  could  have  seen  more  in  the  men 
she  met.  Young  Mr.  Latimer  had  accom 
panied  his  guardian,  exactly  why  she  did  not 
see,  but  she  recognized  his  presence  slightly. 
He  seemed  quite  content  to  remain  in  the 
background.  Mr.  Lockwood,  as  she  had  ex 
pected,  explained  that  he  had  called  to  thank 
her  for  the  return  of  the  medal.  He  had  it 
in  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  touched  it 
gently  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  as  though 
caressing  it. 

"  I  knew  your  father  very  well,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  and  I  at  one  time  had  the  honor  of 
being  one  of  your  mother's  younger  friends. 
That  was  before  she  was  married,  many  years 
ago."  He  stopped  and  regarded  the  girl 
gravely  and  with  a  touch  of  tenderness. 
"  You  will  pardon  an  old  man,  old  enough  to 
be  your  father,  if  he  says,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
you  are  greatly  like  your  mother,  my  dear 
young  lady  —  greatly  like.  You  mother  was 
very  kind  to  me,  and  I  fear  I  abused  her 
kindness ;  abused  it  by  misunderstanding  it. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  misunderstanding ; 
and  I  was  proud,  and  my  friend  was  proud, 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGTJT.    197 

and  so  the  misunderstanding  continued,  until 
now  it  has  become  irretrievable." 

He  had  forgotten  her  presence  apparently, 
and  was  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  her 
as  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  medal  in  his 
hand. 

"You  were  very  thoughtful  to  give  me 
this,"  he  continued;  "it  was  very  good  of 
you.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  keep  it 
though,  now,  although  I  was  distressed 
enough  when  I  lost  it.  But  now  it  is  only 
a  reminder  of  a  time  that  is  past  and  put 
away,  but  which  was  very,  very  dear  to  me. 
Perhaps  I  should  tell  you  that  I  had  a  mis 
understanding  with  the  friend  who  gave  it  to 
me,  and  since  then  we  have  never  met ;  have 
ceased  to  know  each  other.  But  I  have 
always  followed  his  life  as  a  judge  and  as  a 
lawyer,  and  respected  him  for  his  own  sake 
as  a  man.  I  cannot  tell  —  I  do  not  know 
how  he  feels  towards  me." 

The  old  lawyer  turned  the  medal  over  in 
his  hand  and  stood  looking  down  at  it  wist 
fully. 

The  cynical  Miss  Catherwaight  could  not 
stand  it  any  longer. 

"Mr.    Lockwood,"   she    said,  impulsively, 


198    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATUEEWAIGHT. 

"  Mr.  Latimer  has  told  me  why  you  and  your 
friend  separated,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
that  it  was  she  —  my  mother  —  should  have 
been  the  cause.  She  could  not  have  under 
stood  ;  she  must  have  been  innocent  of  any 
knowledge  of  the  trouble  she  had  brought  to 
men  who  were  such  good  friends  of  hers  and 
to  each  other.  It  seems  to  me  as  though  my 
finding  that  coin  is  more  than  a  coincidence. 
I  somehow  think  that  the  daughter  is  to  help 
undo  the  harm  that  her  mother  has  caused 
— unwittingly  caused.  Keep  the  medal  and 
don't  give  it  back  to  me,  for  I  am  sure  your 
friend  has  kept  his,  and  I  am  sure  he  is  still 
your  friend  at  heart.  Don't  think  I  am 
speaking  hastily  or  that  I  am  thoughtless  in 
what  I  am  saying,  but  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
friends  —  good,  true  friends — were  so  few 
that  one  cannot  let  them  go  without  a  word 
to  bring  them  back.  But  though  I  am  only 
a  girl,  and  a  very  light  and  unfeeling  girl, 
some  people  think,  J  feel  this  very  much, 
and  I  do  wish  I  could  bring  your  old  friend 
back  to  you  again  as  I  brought  back  his 
pledge." 

"It  has  been  many  years  since  Henry  Bur- 
goyne  and  I  have  met,"  said  the  old  man, 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT.    109 

slowly,  "and  it  would  be  quite  absurd  to 
think  that  he  still  holds  any  trace  of  that 
foolish,  boyish  feeling  of  loyalty  that  we  once 
had  for  each  other.  Yet  I  will  keep  this,  if 
you  will  let  me,  and  I  thank  you,  my  dear 
young  lady,  for  what  you  have  said.  I  thank 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  You  are 
as  good  and  as  kind  as  your  mother  was,  and 
—  I  can  say  nothing,  believe  me,  in  higher 
praise." 

He  rose  slowly  and  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  leave  the  room,  and  then,  as  if  the  excite 
ment  of  this  sudden  return  into  the  past  could 
not  be  shaken  off  so  readily,  he  started  for 
ward  with  a  move  of  sudden  determination. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  UI  will  go  to  Henry 
Burgoyne's  house  at  once,  to-night.  I  will 
act  on  what  you  have  suggested.  I  will  see 
if  this  has  or  has  not  been  one  long,  unprofit 
able  mistake.  If  my  visit  should  be  fruitless, 
I  will  send  you  this  coin  to  add  to  your  col 
lection  of  dishonored  honors,  but  if  it  should 
result  as  I  hope  it  may,  it  will  be  your  doing, 
Miss  Catherwaight,  and  two  old  men  will 
have  much  to  thank  you  for.  Good  night," 
he  said  as  he  bowed  above  her  hand,  "  and  — 
God  bless  you ! " 


200    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHERWAIGHT. 

Miss  Gather  waight  flushed  slightly  at  what 
he  had  said,  and  sat  looking  down  at  the  floor 
for  a  moment  after  the  door  had  closed  behind 
him. 

Young  Mr.  Latimer  moved  uneasily  in  his 
chair.  The  routine  of  the  office  had  been 
strangely  disturbed  that  day,  and  he  now 
failed  to  recognize  in  the  girl  before  him  with 
reddened  cheeks  and  trembling  eyelashes  the 
cold,  self-possessed  young  woman  of  society 
whom  he  had  formerly  known. 

"  You  have  done  very  well,  if  you  will  let 
me  say  so,"  he  began,  gently.  "  I  hope  you 
are  right  in  what  you  said,  and  that  Mr. 
Lockwood  will  not  meet  with  a  rebuff  or 
an  ungracious  answer.  Why,"  he  went  on 
quickly,  "  I  have  seen  him  take  out  his  gun 
now  every  spring  and  every  fall  for  the  last 
ten  years  and  clean  and  polish  it  and  tell 
what  great  shots  he  and  Henry,  as  he  calls 
him,  used  to  be.  And  then  he  would  say  he 
would  take  a  holiday  and  get  off  for  a  little 
shooting.  But  he  never  went.  He  would 
put  the  gun  back  into  its  case  again  and 
mope  in  his  library  for  days  afterward.  You 
see,  he  never  married,  and  though  he  adopted 
me,  in  a  manner,  and  is  fond  of  me  in  a  cer- 


THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWAIGHT.    201 

tain  way,  no  one  ever  took  the  place  in  his 
heart  his  old  friend  had  held." 

"You  will  let  me  know,  will  you  not,  at 
once,  —  to-night,  even,  —  whether  he  succeeds 
or  not  ?  "  said  the  cynical  Miss  Catherwaight. 
"  You  can  understand  why  I  am  so  deeply 
interested.  I  see  now  why  you  said  I  would 
not  tell  the  story  of  that  medal.  But,  after 
all,  it  may  be  the  prettiest  story,  the  only 
pretty  story  I  have  to  tell." 

Mr.  Lockwood  had  not  returned,  the  man 
said,  when  young  Latimer  reached  the  home 
the  lawyer  had  made  for  them  both.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  argue  from  this,  but  deter 
mined  to  sit  up  and  wait,  and  so  sat  smoking 
before  the  fire  and  listening  with  his  sense  of 
hearing  on  a  strain  for  the  first  movement  at 
the  door. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  front  door 
shut  with  a  clash,  and  he  heard  Mr.  Lock- 
wood  crossing  the  hall  quickly  to  the  library, 
in  which  he  waited.  Then  the  inner  door 
was  swung  back,  and  Mr.  Lockwood  came  in 
with  his  head  high  and  his  eyes  smiling 
brightly. 

There  was  something  in  his  step  that  had 
not  been  there  before,  something  light  and 


202    THE  CYNICAL  MISS  CATHEEWA1GHT. 

vigorous,  and  he  looked  ten  years  younger. 
He  crossed  the  room  to  his  writing-table 
without  speaking  and  began  tossing  the 
papers  about  on  his  desk.  Then  he  closed 
the  rolling-top  lid  with  a  snap  and  looked  up 
smiling. 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  look  after 
things  at  the  office  for  a  little  while,"  he 
said.  "  Judge  Burgoyne  and  I  are  going  to 
Maryland  for  a  few  weeks'  shooting." 


VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN- 
BOATS. 


IT  was  very  hot  in  the  Park,  and  young 
Van  Bibber,  who  has  a  good  heart  and  a 
great  deal  more  money  than  good-hearted 
people  generally  get,  was  cross  and  somno 
lent.  He  had  told  his  groom  to  bring  a 
horse  he  wanted  to  try  to  the  Fifty-ninth 
Street  entrance  at  ten  o'clock,  and  the  groom 
had  not  appeared.  Hence  Van  Bibber's  cross 
ness. 

He  waited  as  long  as  his  dignity  would 
allow,  and  then  turned  off  into  a  by-lane  and 
dropped  on  a  bench  and  looked  gloomily  at 
the  Lohengrin  swans  with  the  paddle-wheel 
attachment  that  circle  around  the  lake.  They 
struck  him  as  the  most  idiotic  inventions  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  he  pitied,  with  the  pity  of 
a  man  who  contemplates  crossing  the  ocean 
to  be  measured  for  his  fall  clothes,  the  people 
who  could  find  delight  in  having  some  one 
paddle  them  around  an  artificial  lake. 


204    VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS. 

Two  little  girls  from  the  East  Side,  with  a 
lunch  basket,  and  an  older  girl  with  her  hair 
down  her  back,  sat  down  on  a  bench  beside 
him  and  gazed  at  the  swans. 

The  place  was  becoming  too  popular,  and 
Van  Bibber  decided  to  move  on.  But  the 
bench  on  which  he  sat  was  in  the  shade,  and 
the  -asphalt  walk  leading  to  the  street  was  in 
the  sun,  and  his  cigarette  was  soothing,  so  he 
ignored  the  near  presence  of  the  three  little 
girls,  and  remained  where  he  was. 

"I  s'pose,"  said  one  of  the  two  little  girls, 
in  a  high,  public  school  voice,  "  there's  lots 
to  see  from  those  swan-boats  that  you'se  can't 
see  from  the  banks." 

"  Oh,  lots,"  assented  the  girl  with  long  hair. 

44  If  you  walked  all  round  the  lake,  clear  all 
the  way  round,  you  could  see  all  there  is  to 
see,"  said  the  third,  "  except  what  there's  in 
the  -middle  where  the  island  is." 

"  I  guess  it's  mighty  wild  on  that  island," 
suggested  the  youngest. 

"  Eddie  Case  he  took  a  trip  around  the  lake 
on  a  swan-boat  the  other  day.  He  said  that 
it  was  grand  He  said  you'se  could  see  fishes 
and  ducks,  and  that  it  looked  just  as  if  there 
were  snakes  and  things  on  the  island." 


VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS.    205 

"What  sort  of  things?"  asked  the  other 
one,  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  Well,  wild  things,"  explained  the  elder, 
vaguely ;  "  bears  and  animals  like  that,  that 
grow  in  wild  places." 

Van  Bibber  lit  a  fresh  cigarette,  and  settled 
himself  comfortably  and  unreservedly  to  lis 
ten. 

"  My,  but  I'd  like  to  take  a  trip  just  once," 
said  the  youngest,  under  her  breath.  Then 
she  clasped  her  fingers  together  and  looked 
up  anxiously  .at  the  elder  girl,  who  glanced 
at  her  with  severe  reproach. 

"  Why,  Mame  !  "  she  said ;  "  ain't  you 
ashamed !  Ain't  you  having  a  good  time 
'nuff  without  wishing  for  everything  you  set 
your  eyes  on  ?  *' 

Van  Bibber  wondered  at  this  —  why  hu 
mans  should  want  to  ride  around  on  the 
swans  in  the  first  place,  and  why,  if  they 
had  such  a  wild  desire,  they  should  not  grat 
ify  it. 

"  Why,  it  costs  more'n  it  costs  to  come  all 
the  way  up  town  in  an  open  car,"  added  the 
elder  girl,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  unspoken 
question. 

The  younger  girl  sighed  at  this,  and  nodded 


206      VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS. 

her  head  in  submission,  but  blinked  longingly 
at  the  big  swans  and  the  parti-colored  awning 
and  the  red  seats. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Van  Bibber, 
addressing  himself  uneasily  to  the  eldest 
girl  with  long  hair,  "but  if  the  little  girl 
would  like  to  go  around  in  one  of  those 
things,  and  —  and  hasn't  brought  the  change 
with  her,  you  know,  I'm  sure  I  should  be 
very  glad  if  she'd  allow  me  to  send  her 
around." 

"  Oh !  will  you  ?  "  exclaimed  the  little  girl, 
with  a  jump,  and  so  sharply  and  in  such  a 
shrill  voice,  that  Van  Bibber  shuddered.  But 
the  elder  girl  objected. 

"  I'm  afraid  maw  wouldn't  like  our  taking 
money  from  any  one  we  didn't  know,"  she 
said  with  dignity ;  "  but  if  you're  going  any 
way  and  want  company  —  " 

"  Oh !  my,  no,"  said  Van  Bibber,  hurriedly. 
He  tried  to  picture  himself  riding  around  the 
lake  behind  a  tin  swan  with  three  little  girls 
from  the  East  Side,  and  a  lunch  basket. 

"Then,"  said  the  head  of  the  trio,  "we 
can't  go." 

There  was  such  a  look  of  uncomplaining 
acceptance  of  this  verdict  on  the  part  of  the 


VAN  BIBBER  AND  TUE  SWAN-BOATS.     207 

two  little  girls,  that  Van  Bibber  felt  uncom 
fortable.  He  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left,  and  then  said  desperately,  "  Well,  come 
along."  The  young  man  in  a  blue  flannel 
shirt,  who  did  the  paddling,  smiled  at  Van 
Bibber's  riding-breeches,  which  were  so  very 
loose  at  one  end  and  so  very  tight  at  the  other, 
and  at  his  gloves  and  crop.  But  Van  Bibber 
pretended  not  to  care.  The  three  little  girls 
placed  the  awful  lunch  basket  on  the  front 
seat  and  sat  on  the  middle  one,  and  Van 
Bibber  cowered  in  the  back.  They  were 
hushed  in  silent  ecstasy  when  it  started, 
and  gave  little  gasps  of  pleasure  when  it 
careened  slightly  in  turning.  It  was  shady 
under  the  awning,  and  the  motion  was  pleas 
ant  enough,  but  Van  Bibber  was  so  afraid 
some  one  would  see  him  that  he  failed  to 
enjoy  it. 

But  as  soon  as  they  passed  into  the  narrow 
straits  and  were  shut  in  by  the  bushes  and 
were  out  of  sight  of  the  people,  he  relaxed, 
and  began  to  play  the  host.  He  pointed  out 
the  fishes  among  the  rocks  at  the  edges  of  the 
pool,  and  the  sparrows  and  robins  bathing  and 
ruffling  their  feathers  in  the  shallow  water, 
and  agreed  with  them  about  the  possibility  of 


208      VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS. 

bears,  and  even  tigers,  in  the  wild  part  of  the 
island,  although  the  glimpse  of  the  gray  hel 
met  of  a  Park  policeman  made  such  a  supposi 
tion  doubtful. 

And  it  really  seemed  as  though  they  were 
enjoying  it  more  than  he  ever  enjoyed  a  trip 
up  the  Sound  on  a  yacht  or  across  the  ocean 
on  a  record-breaking  steamship.  It  seemed 
long  enough  before  they  got  back  to  Van 
Bibber,  but  his  guests  were  evidently  but 
barely  satisfied.  Still,  all  the  goodness  in 
his  nature  would  not  allow  him  to  go  through 
that  ordeal  again. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  boat  eagerly 
and  helped  out  the  girl  with  long  hair  as 
though  she  had  been  a  princess  and  tipped 
the  rude  young  man  who  had  laughed  at 
him,  but  who  was  perspiring  now  with  the 
work  he  had  done;  and  then  as  he  turned 
to  leave  the  dock  he  came  face  to  face 
with  A  Girl  He  Knew  and  Her  brother. 

Her  brother  said,  "  How're  you,  Van  Bib 
ber?  Been  taking  a  trip  around  the  world  in 
eighty  minutes  ?  "  And  added  in  a  low  voice, 
"Introduce  me  to  your  young  lady  friends 
from  Hester  Street." 

"  Ah,    how're    you  —  quite    a    surprise  ! " 


VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS.     209 

gasped  Van  Bibber,  while  his  late  guests 
stared  admiringly  at  the  pretty  young  lady 
in  the  riding-habit,  and  utterly  refused  to 
move  on.  "  Been  taking  ride  on  the  lake,'' 
stammered  Van  Bibber ;  "  most  exhilarating. 
Young  friends  of  mine  —  these  young  ladies 
never  rode  on  lake,  so  I  took  'em.  Did  you 
see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  saw  you,"  said  Her  brother, 
dryly,  while  she  only  smiled  at  him,  but  so 
kindly  and  with  such  perfect  understanding 
that  Van  Bibber  grew  red  with  pleasure  and 
bought  three  long  strings  of  tickets  for  the 
swans  at  some  absurd  discount,  and  gave  each 
little  girl  a  string. 

"There,"  said  Her  brother  to  the  little 
ladies  from  Hester  Street,  "now  you  can 
take  trips  for  a  week  without  stopping.  Don't 
try  to  smuggle  in  any  laces,  and  don't  forget 
to  fee  the  smoking-room  steward." 

The  Girl  He  Knew  said  they  were  walk 
ing  over  to  the  stables,  and  that  he  had 
better  go  get  his  other  horse  and  join  her, 
which  was  to  be  his  reward  for  taking  care 
of  the  young  ladies.  And  the  three  lit 
tle  girls  proceeded  to  use  up  the  yards  of 
tickets  so  industriously  that  they  were  sun- 


210     VAN  BIBBER  AND  THE  SWAN-BOATS. 

burned  when  they  reached  the  tenement, 
and  went  to  bed  dreaming  of  a  big  white 
swan,  and  a  beautiful  young  gentleman 
in  patent-leather  riding-boots  and  baggy 
breeches. 


VAN  BIBBER'S   BURGLAR. 


THERE  had  been  a  dance  up  town,  but 
as  Van  Bibber  could  not  find  Her  there,  he 
accepted  young  Traver's  suggestion  to  go 
over  to  Jersey  City  and  see  a  "  go  "  between 
"Dutchy"  Mack  and  a  colored  person  profes 
sionally  known  as  the  Black  Diamond.  They 
covered  up  all  signs  of  their  evening  dress 
with  their  great-coats,  and  filled  their  pockets 
with  cigars,  for  the  smoke  which  surrounds  a 
"  go  "  is  trying  to  sensitive  nostrils,  and  they 
also  fastened  their  watches  to  both  key-chains. 
Alf  Alpin,  who  was  acting  as  master  of  cere 
monies,  was  greatly  pleased  and  flattered  at 
their  coming,  and  boisterously  insisted  on 
their  sitting  on  the  platform.  The  fact  was 
generally  circulated  among  the  spectators  that 
the  "  two  gents  in  high  hats  "  had  come  in 
a  carriage,  and  this  and  their  patent-leather 
boots  made  them  objects  of  keen  interest.  It 
was  even  whispered  that  they  were  the  "par- 

211 


212  VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR. 

ties  "  who  were  putting  up  the  money  to  back 
the  Black  Diamond  against  the  "  Hester  Street 
Jackson."  This  in  itself  entitled  them  to 
respect.  Van  Bibber  was  asked  to  hold  the 
watch,  but  he  wisely  declined  the  honor, 
which  was  given  to  Andy  Spielman,  the  sport 
ing  reporter  of  the  Track  and  Ring,  whose 
watch-case  was  covered  with  diamonds,  and 
was  just  the  sort  of  a  watch  a  timekeeper 
should  hold* 

It  was  two  o'clock  before  "Dutchy"  Mack's 
backer  threw  the  sponge  into  the  air,  and  three 
before  they  reached  the  city.  They  had  an 
other  reporter  in  the  cab  with  them  besides 
the  gentleman  who  had  bravely  held  the 
watch  in  the  face  of  several  offers  to  "  do  for  " 
him ;  and  as  Van  Bibber  was  ravenously  hun 
gry,  and  as  he  doubted  that  he  could  get 
anything  at  that  hour  at  the  club,  they  ac 
cepted  Speilman's  invitation  and  went  for 
a  porterhouse  steak  and  onions  at,  the  Owl's 
Nest,  Gus  McGowan's  all-night  restaurant  on 
Third  Avenue. 

It  was  a  very  dingy,  dirty  place,  but  it  was 
as  warm  as  the  engine-room  of  a  steamboat, 
and  the  steak  was  perfectly  done  and  tender. 
It  was  too  late  to  go  to  bed,  so  they  sat  around 


VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR.  213 

the  table,  with  their  chairs  tipped  back  and 
their  knees  against  its  edge.  The  two  club 
men  had  thrown  off  their  great-coats,  and 
their  wide  shirt  fronts  and  silk  facings  shone 
grandly  in  the  smoky  light  of  the  oil  lamps 
and  the  red  glow  from  the  grill  in  the  corner. 
They  talked  about  the  life  the  reporters  led, 
and  the  Philistines  asked  foolish  questions, 
which  the  gentleman  of  the  press  answered 
without  showing  them  how  foolish  they  were. 

"And  I  suppose  you  have  all  sorts  of 
curious  adventures,"  said  Van  Bibber,  ten 
tatively. 

"Well,  no,  not  what  I  would  call  adven 
tures,"  said  one  of  the  reporters.  "  I  have  never 
seen  anything  that  could  not  be  explained  or 
attributed  directly  to  some  known  cause,  such 
as  crime  or  poverty  or  drink.  You  may  think 
at  first  that  you  have  stumbled  on  something 
strange  and  romantic,  but  it  comes  to  nothing. 
You  would  suppose  that  in  a  great  city  like 
this  one  would  come  across  something  that 
could  not  be  explained  away  —  something 
mysterious  or  out  of  the  common,  like  Steven 
son's  Suicide  Club.  But  I  have  not  found  it 
so.  Dickens  once  told  James  Payn  that  the 
most  curious  thing  he  ever  saw  in  his  rambles 


214  VAN  BIBBERS  BURGLAR. 

around  London  was  a  ragged  man  who  stood 
crouching  under  the  window  of  a  great  house 
where  the  owner  was  giving  a  ball.  While 
the  man  hid  beneath  a  window  on  the  ground 
floor,  a  woman  wonderfully  dressed  and  very- 
beautiful  raised  the  sash  from  the  inside  and 
dropped  her  bouquet  down  into  the  man's 
hand,  and  he  nodded  and  stuck  it  under  his 
coat  and  ran  off  with  it. 

"  I  call  that,  now,  a  really  curious  thing  to 
see.  But  I  have  never  come  across  anything 
like  it,  and  I  have  been  in  every  part  of  this 
big  city,  and  at  every  hour  of  the  night  and 
morning,  and  I  am  not  lacking  in  imagina 
tion  either,  but  no  captured  maidens  have 
ever  beckoned  to  me  from  barred  windows 
nor  '  white  hands  waved  from  a  passing  han 
som.'  Balzac  and  De  Musset  and  Stevenson 
suggest  that  they  have  had  such  adventures, 
but  they  never  come  to  me.  It  is  all  com 
monplace  and  vulgar,  and  always  ends  in  a 
police  court  or  with  a  4  found  drowned '  in 
the  North  River." 

McGowan,  who  had  fallen  into  a  doze 
behind  the  bar,  woke  suddenly  and  shivered 
and  rubbed  his  shirt-sleeves  briskly.  A 
woman  knocked  at  the  side  door  and  begged 


VAN  BIBBER'S   BURGLAR.  215 

for  a  drink  "  for  the  love  of  heaven,"  and  the 
man  who  tended  the  grill  told  her  to  be  off. 
They  could  hear  her  feeling  her  way  against 
the  wall  and  cursing  as  she  staggered  out  of 
the  alley.  Three  men  came  in  with  a  hack 
driver  and  wanted  everybody  to  drink  with 
them,  and  became  insolent  when  the  gentle 
man  declined,  and  were  in  consequence 
hustled  out  one  at  a  time  by  McGowan,  who 
went  to  sleep  again  immediately,  with  his 
head  resting  among  the  cigar  boxes  and 
pyramids  of  glasses  at  the  back  of  the  bar, 
and  snored. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  reporter,  "  it  is  all  like 
this.  Night  in  a  great  city  is  not  picturesque 
and  it  is  not  theatrical.  It  is  sodden,  some 
times  brutal,  exciting  enough  until  you  get 
used  to  it,  but  it  runs  in  a  groove.  It  is 
dramatic,  but  the  plot  is  old  and  the  motives 
and  characters  always  the  same." 

The  rumble  of  heavy  market  wagons  and 
the  rattle  of  milk  carts  told  them  that  it 
was  morning,  and  as  they  opened  the  door 
the  cold  fresh  air  swept  into  the  place  and 
made  them  wrap  their  collars  around  their 
throats  and  stamp  their  feet.  The  morning 
wind  swept  down  the  cross-street  from  the 


216  VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAB. 

East  River  and  the  lights  of  the  street  lamps 
and  of  the  saloon  looked  old  and  tawdry. 
Travers  and  the  reporter  went  off  to  a  Turk 
ish  bath,  and  the  gentleman  who  held  the 
watch,  and  who  had  been  asleep  for  the  last 
hour,  dropped  into  a  nighthawk  and  told  the 
man  to  drive  home.  It  was  almost  clear  now 
and  very  cold  and  Van  Bibber  determined  to 
walk.  He  had  the  strange  feeling  one  gets 
when  one  stays  up  until  the  sun  rises,  of 
having  lost  a  day  somewhere,  and  the  dance 
he  had  attended  a  few  hours  before  seemed 
to  have  come  off  long  ago,  and  the  fight  in 
Jersey  City  was  far  back  in  the  past. 

The  houses  along  the  cross-street  through 
which  he  walked  were  as  dead  as  so  many 
blank  walls,  and  only  here  and  there  a  lace 
curtain  waved  out  of  the  open  window  where 
some  honest  citizen  was  sleeping.  The  street 
was  quite  deserted;  not  even  a  cat  or  a 
policeman  moved  on  it  and  Van  Bibber's 
footsteps  sounded  brisk  on  the  sidewalk. 
There  was  a  great  house  at  the  corner  of 
the  avenue  and  the  cross-street  on  which  he 
was  walking.  The  house  faced  the  avenue 
and  a  stone  wall  ran  back  to  the  brown  stone 
stable  which  opened  on  the  side  street.  There 


VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR.  217 

was  a  door  in  this  wall,  and  as  Van  Bibber 
approached  it  on  his  solitary  walk  it  opened 
cautiously,  and  a  man's  head  appeared  in  it 
for  an  instant  and  was  withdrawn  again  like 
a  flash,  and  the  door  snapped  to.  Van  Bib 
ber  stopped  and  looked  at  the  door  and  at 
the  house  and  up  and  down  the  street.  The 
house  was  tightly  closed,  as  though  some  one 
was  lying  inside  dead,  and  the  streets  were 
still  empty. 

Van  Bibber  could  think  of  nothing  in  his 
appearance  so  dreadful  as  to  frighten  an  hon 
est  man,  so  he  decided  the  face  he  had  had  a 
glimpse  of  must  belong  to  a  dishonest  one. 
It  was  none  of  his  business,  he  assured  him 
self,  but  it  was  curious,  and  he  liked  adven 
ture,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  prove  his 
friend  the  reporter,  who  did  not  believe  in 
adventure,  in  the  wrong.  So  he  approached 
the  door  silently,  and  jumped  and  caught  at 
the  top  of  the  wall  and  stuck  one  foot  on  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  with  the  other  on 
the  knocker,  drew  himself  up  and  looked 
cautiously  down  on  the  other  side.  He  had 
done  this  so  lightly  that  the  only  noise  he 
made  was  the  rattle  of  the  door-knob  on 
which  his  foot  had  rested,  and  the  man  inside 


218  VAN  BIBBEE'S  BUEGLAR. 

thought  that  the  one  outside  was  trying  to 
open  the  door,  and  placed  his  shoulder  to  it 
and  pressed  against  it  heavily.  Van  Bibber, 
from  his  perch  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  looked 
down  directly  on  the  other's  head  and  shoul 
ders.  He  could  see  the  top  of  the  man's 
head  only  two  feet  .below,  and  he  also  saw 
that  in  one  hand  he  held  a  revolver  and  that 
two  bags  filled  with  projecting  articles  of 
different  sizes  lay  at  his  feet. 

It  did  not  need  explanatory  notes  to  tell 
Van  Bibber  that  the  man  below  had  robbed 
the  big  house  on  the  corner,  and  that  if  it 
had  not  been  for  his  having  passed  when 
he  did  the  burglar  would  have  escaped  with 
his  treasure.  His  first  thought  was  that  he 
was  not  a  policeman,  and  that  a  fight  with  a 
burglar  was  not  in  his  line  of  life ;  and  this 
was  followed  by  the  thought  that  though  the 
gentleman  who  owned  the  property  in  the 
two  bags  was  of  no  interest  to  him,  he  was, 
as  a  respectable  member  of  society,  more 
entitled  to  consideration  than  the  man  with 
the  revolver. 

The  fact  that  he  was  now,  whether  he  liked 
it  or  not,  perched  on  the  top  of  the  wall  like 
Humpty  Dumpty,  and  that  the  burglar  might 


VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR.  219 

see  him  and  shoot  him  the  next  minute,  had 
also  an  immediate  influence  on  his  move 
ments.  So  he  balanced  himself  cautiously 
and  noiselessly  and  dropped  upon  the  man's 
head  and  shoulders,  bringing  him  down  to  the 
flagged  walk  with  him  and  under  him.  The 
revolver  went  off  once  in  the  struggle,  but 
before  the  burglar  could  know  how  or  from 
where  his  assailant  had  come,  Van  Bibber  was 
standing  up  over  him  and  had  driven  his  heel 
down  on  his  hand  and  kicked  the  pistol  out 
of  his  fingers.  Then  he  stepped  quickly  to 
where  it  lay  and  picked  it  up  and  said,  "Now, 
if  you  try  to  get  up  I'll  shoot  at  you."  He 
felt  an  unwarranted  and  ill-timedly  humorous 
inclination  to  add,  "and  I'll  probably  miss 
you,"  but  subdued  it.  The  burglar,  much  to 
Van  Bibber's  astonishment,  did  not  attempt 
to  rise,  but  sat  up  with  his  hands  locked  across 
his  knees  and  said :  "  Shoot  ahead.  I'd  a 
damned  sight  rather  you  would." 

His  teeth  were  set  and  his  face  desperate 
and  bitter,  and  hopeless  to  a  degree  of  utter 
hopelessness  that  Van  Bibber  had  never 
imagined. 

"  Go  ahead,"  reiterated  the  man,  doggedly, 
"I  won't  move.  Shoot  me." 


220  VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR. 

It  was  a  most  unpleasant  situation.  Van 
Bibber  felt  the  pistol  loosening  in  his  hand, 
and  he  was  conscious  of  a  strong  inclination 
to  lay  it  down  and  ask  the  burglar  to  tell  him 
all  about  it. 

"  You  haven't  got  much  heart,"  said  Van 
Bibber,  finally.  "  You're  a  pretty  poor  sort 
of  a  burglar,  I  should  say." 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  said  the  man,  fiercely. 
"  I  won't  go  back  —  I  won't  go  back  there 
alive.  I've  served  my  time  forever  in  that 
hole.  If  I  have  to  go  back  again  —  s'help 
me  if  I  don't  do  for  a  keeper  and  die  for  it. 
But  I  won't  serve  there  no  more." 

"  Go  back  where  ? "  asked  Van  Bibber, 
gently,  and  greatly  interested  ;  "  to  prison?  " 

"  To  prison,  yes  !  "  cried  the  man,  hoarsely : 
"to  a  grave.  That's  where.  Look  at  my 
face,"  he  said,  "  and  look  at  my  hair.  That 
ought  to  tell  you  where  I've  been.  With  all 
the  color  gone  out  of  my  skin,  and  all  the  life 
out  of  my  legs.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  me. 
I  couldn't  hurt  you  if  I  wanted  to.  I'm  a 
skeleton  and  a  baby,  I  am.  I  couldn't  kill  a 
cat.  And  now  you're  going  to  send  me  back 
again  for  another  lifetime.  For  twenty  years, 
this  time,  into  that  cold,  forsaken  hole,  and 


VAN  BIBBER'S  BUEGLAR.  221 

after  I  done  my  time  so  well  and  worked  so 
hard."  Van  Bibber  shifted  the  pistol  from 
one  hand  to  the  other  and  eyed  his  prisoner 
doubtfully. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  out  ?  "  he  asked, 
seating  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  kitchen 
and  holding  the  revolver  between  his  knees. 
The  sun  was  driving  the  morning  mist  away, 
and  he  had  forgotten  the  cold. 

"  I  got  out  yesterday,"  said  the  man. 

Van  Bibber  glanced  at  the  bags  and  lifted 
the  revolver.  "  You  didn't  waste  much  time," 
he  said. 

"  No,"  answered  the  man,  sullenly,  "  No,  I 
didn't.  I  knew  this  place  and  I  wanted 
money  to  get  West  to  my  folks,  and  the  Soci 
ety  said  I'd  have  to  wait  until  I  earned  it,  and 
I  couldn't  wait.  I  haven't  seen  my  wife  for 
seven  years,  nor  my  daughter.  Seven  years, 
young  man ;  think  of  that  —  seven  years.  Do 
you  know  how  long  that  is?  Seven  years 
without  seeing  your  wife  or  your  child !  And 
they're  straight  people,  they  are,"  he  added, 
hastily.  "  My  wife  moved  West  after  I  was 
put  away  and  took  another  name,  and  my  girl 
never  knew  nothing  about  me.  She  thinks 
I'm  away  at  sea.  I  was  to  join  'em.  That  was 


222  VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR. 

the  plan.  I  was  to  join  'em,  and  I  thought  I 
could  lift  enough  here  to  get  the  fare,  and 
now,"  he  added,  dropping  his  face  in  his 
hands,  "I've  got  to  go  back.  And  I  had 
meant  to  live  straight  after  I  got  West,  —  God 
help  me,  but  I  did!  Not  that  it  makes  much 
difference  now.  An'  I  don't  care  whether  you 
believe  it  or  not  "neither,"  he  added,  fiercely. 

"  I  didn't  say  whether  I  believed  it  or  not," 
answered  Van  Bibber,  with  grave  consider 
ation. 

He  eyed  the  man  for  a  brief  space  without 
speaking,  and  the  burglar  looked  back  at  him, 
doggedly  and  defiantly,  and  with  not  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  hope  in  his  eyes,  or  of 
appeal  for  mercy.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of 
this  fact,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  wife  and  child 
that  moved  Van  Bibber,  but  whatever  his 
motives  were,  he  acted  on  them  promptly. 
"  T  suppose,  though,"  he  said,  as  though  speak 
ing  to  himself,  "that  I  ought  to  give  you  up." 

"  I'll  never  go  back  alive,"  said  the  burglar, 
quietly. 

"  Well,  that's  bad,  too,"  said  Van  Bibber. 
"  Of  course  I  don't  know  whether  you're 
lying  or  not,  and  as  to  your  meaning  to  live 
honestly,  I  very  much  doubt  it ;  but  I'll  give 


VAN  BIBBER'S  BURGLAR.  223 

you  a  ticket  to  wherever  your  wife  is,  and 
I'll  see  you  on  the  train.  And  you  can  get 
off  at  the  next  station  and  rob  my  house 
to-morrow  night,  if  you  feel  that  way  about 
it.  Throw  those  bags  inside  that  door  where 
the  servant  will  see  them  before  the  milk 
man  does,  and  walk  on  out  ahead  of  me,  and 
keep  your  hands  in  your  pockets,  and  don't 
try  to  run.  I  have  your  pistol,  you  know." 

The  man  placed  the  bags  inside  the  kitchen 
door ;  and,  with  a  doubtful  look  at  his  cus 
todian,  stepped  out  into  the  street,  and 
walked,  as  he  was  directed  to  do,  toward  the 
Grand  Central  station.  Van  Bibber  kept 
just  behind  him,  and  kept  turning  the  ques 
tion  over  in  his  mind  as  to  what  he  ought  to 
do.  He  felt  very  guilty  as  he  passed  each 
policeman,  but  he  recovered  himself  when  he 
thought  of  the  wife  and  child  who  lived  in 
the  West,  and  who  were  "straight." 

"Where  to?"  asked  Van  Bibber,  as  he 
stood  at  the  ticket-office  window.  "  Helena, 
Montana,"  answered  the  man  with,  for  the 
first  time,  a  look  of  relief.  Van  Bibber 
bought  the  ticket  and  handed  it  to  the  burg 
lar.  "  I  suppose  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  can  sell  that  at  a  place  down  town  for 


224  VAN  BIBBEE'S  BURGLAE. 

half  the  money."  "  Yes,  I  know  that,"  said 
the  burglar.  There  was  a  half-hour  before 
the  train  left,  and  Van  Bibber  took  his  charge 
into  the  restaurant  and  watched  him  eat 
everything  placed  before  him,  with  his  eyes 
glancing  all  the  while  to  the  right  or  left. 
Then  Van  Bibber  gave  him  some  money  and 
told  him  to  write  to  him,  and  shook  hands 
with  him.  The  man  nodded  eagerly  and 
pulled  off  his  hat  as  the  car  drew  out  of  the 
station;  and  Van  Bibber  came  down  town 
again  with  the  shop  girls  and  clerks  going  to 
work,  still  wondering  if  he  had  done  the  right 
thing. 

He  went  to  his  rooms  and  changed  his 
clothes,  took  a  cold  bath,  and  crossed  over  to 
Delmonico's  for  his  breakfast,  and,  while  the 
waiter  laid  the  cloth  in  the  cafe*,  glanced  at 
the  headings  in  one  of  the  papers.  He  scanned 
first  with  polite  interest  the  account  of  the 
dance  on  the  night  previous  and  noticed  his 
name  among  those  present.  With  greater 
interest  he  read  of  the  fight  between  "  Dutchy 
Mack "  and  the  "  Black  Diamond,"  and  then 
he  read  carefully  how  "  Abe  "  Hubbard,  alias 
"  Jimmie  the  Gent,"  a  burglar,  had  broken  jail 
in  New  Jersey,  and  had  been  traced  to  New 


VAN  BIBBER  S  BURGLAR.  225 

York.  There  was  a  description  of  the  man, 
and  Van  Bibber  breathed  quickly  as  he  read 
it.  "  The  detectives  have  a  clew  of  his  where 
abouts,"  the  account  said;  "if  he  is  still  in 
the  city  they  are  confident  of  recapturing  him. 
But  they  fear  that  the  same  friends  who 
helped  him  to  break  jail  will  probably  assist 
him  from  the  country  or  to  get  out  West." 

"  They  may  do  that,"  murmured  Van  Bib 
ber  to  himself,  with  a  smile  of  grim  content 
ment  ;  "  they  probably  will." 

Then  he  said  to  the  waiter,  "  Oh,  I  don't 
know.  Some  bacon  and  eggs  and  green  things 
and  coffee." 


VAN   BIBBER  AS   BEST   MAN. 


YOUNG  VAN  BIBBER  came  up  to  town  in 
June  from  Newport  to  see  his  lawyer  about 
the  preparation  of  some  papers  that  needed, 
his  signature.  He  found  the  city  very  hot 
and  close,  and  as  dreary  and  as  empty  as  a 
house  that  has  been  shut  up  for  some  time 
while  its  usual  occupants  are  away  in  the 
country. 

As  he  had  to  wait  over  for  an  afternoon 
train,  and  as  he  was  down  town,  he  decided 
to  lunch  at  a  French  restaurant  near  Wash 
ington  Square,  where  some  one  had  told  him 
you  could  get  particular  things  particularly 
well  cooked.  The  tables  were  set  on  a  ter 
race  with  plants  and  flowers  about  them,  and 
covered  with  a  tricolored  awning.  There 
were  no  jangling  horse-car  bells  nor  dust  to 
disturb  him,  and  almost  all  the  other  tables 
were  unoccupied.  The  waiters  leaned  against 
these  tables  and  chatted  in  a  French  argot; 

226 


VAN  SIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN.          227 

and  a  cool  breeze  blew  through  the  plants 
and  billowed  the  awning,  so  that,  on  the 
whole,  Van  Bibber  was  glad  he  had  come. 

There  was,  beside  himself,  an  old  French 
man  scolding  over  his  late  breakfast;  two 
young  artists  with  Van  Dyke  beards,  who 
ordered  the  most  remarkable  things  in  the 
same  French  argot  that  the  waiters  spoke ; 
and  a  young  lady  and  a  young  gentleman  at 
the  table  next  to  his  own.  The  young  man's 
back  was  toward  him,  and  he  could  only  see 
the  girl  when  the  youth  moved  to  one  side. 
She  was  very  young  and  very  pretty,  and  she 
seemed  in  a  most  excited  state  of  mind  from 
the  tip  of  her  wide-brimmed,  pointed  French 
hat  to  the  points  of  her  patent-leather  ties. 
She  was  strikingly  well-bred  in  appearance, 
and  Van  Bibber  wondered  why  she  should  be 
dining  alone  with  so  young  a  man. 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  he  heard  the  youth 
say  earnestly.  "  How  could  I  know  he  would 
be  out  of  town  ?  and  anyway  it  really  doesn't 
matter.  Your  cousin  is  not  the  only  clergy 
man  in  the  city." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  girl,  almost  tear 
fully,  "but  they're  not  my  cousins  and  he 
is,  and  that  would  have  made  it  so  much, 


228         VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN. 

oh,  so  very  much  different.  I'm  awfully 
frightened ! " 

"Runaway  couple,"  commented  Van  Bib 
ber.  "  Most  interesting.  Read  about  'em 
often ;  never  seen  'em.  Most  interesting." 

He  bent  his  head  over  an  entrde,  but  he 
could  not  help  hearing  what  followed,  for 
the  young  runaways  were  indifferent  to  all 
around  them,  and  though  he  rattled  his  knife 
and  fork  in  a  most  vulgar  manner,  they  did 
not  heed  him  nor  lower  their  voices. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said 
the  girl,  severely  but  not  unkindly.  "It 
doesn't  seem  to  me  that  you  are  exactly  ris 
ing  to  the  occasion." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  youth, 
easily.  "We're  safe  here  anyway.  Nobody 
we  know  ever  comes  here,  and  if  they  did 
they  are  out  of  town  now.  You  go  on  and 
eat  something,  and  I'll  get  a  directory  and 
look  up  a  lot  of  clergymen's  addresses,  and 
then  we  can  make  out  a  list  and  drive  around 
in  a  cab  until  we  find  one  who  has  not  gone 
off  on  his  vacation.  We  ought  to  be  able 
to  catch  the  Fall  River  boat  back  at  five 
this  afternoon;  then  we  can  go  right  on  to 
Boston  from  Fall  River  to-morrow  morning, 


VAN  BI13BER  AS  BEST  MAN.         229 

and  run  down  to  Narragansett  during  the 
day." 

"  They'll  never  forgive  us,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  well,  that's  all  right,"  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  cheerfully.  "  Really,  you're  the 
most  uncomfortable  young  person  I  ever  ran 
away  with.  One  might  think  you  were  going 
to  a  funeral.  You  were  willing  enough  two 
days  ago,  and  now  you  don't  help  me  at  all. 
Are  you  sorry?"  he  asked,  and  then  added, 
"  but  please  don't  say  so,  even  if  you  are." 

"No,  not  sorry,  exactly,"  said  the  girl; 
"but,  indeed,  Ted,  it  is  going  to  make  so 
much  talk.  If  we  only  had  a  girl  with  us, 
or  if  you  had  a  best  man,  or  if  we  had  wit 
nesses,  as  they  do  in  England,  and  a  parish 
registry,  or  something  of  that  sort;  or  if 
Cousin  Harold  had  only  been  at  home  to  do 
the  marrying." 

The  young  gentleman  called  Ted  did  not 
look,  judging  from  the  expression  of  his 
shoulders,  as  if  he  were  having  a  very  good 
time. 

He  picked  at  the  food  on  his  plate  gloomily, 
and  the  girl  took  out  her  handkerchief  and 
then  put  it  resolutely  back  again  and  smiled 
at  him.  The  youth  called  the  waiter  and 


230         VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN. 

told  him  to  bring  a  directory,  and  as  he 
turned  to  give  the  order  Van  Bibber  recog 
nized  him  and  he  recognized  Van  Bibber. 
Van  Bibber  knew  him  for  a  very  nice  boy,  of 
a  very  good  Boston  family  named  Standish, 
and  the  younger  of  two  sons.  It  was  the 
elder  who  was  Van  Bibber's  particular  friend. 
The  girl  saw  nothing  of  this  mutual  recog 
nition,  for  she  was  looking  with  startled  eyes 
at  a  hansom  that  had  dashed  up  the  side 
street  and  was  turning  the  corner. 

"Ted,  O  Ted!"  she  gasped.  "It's  your 
brother.  There!  In  that  hansom.  I  saw 
him  perfectly  plainly.  Oh,  how  did  he  find 
us?  What  shall  we  do?" 

Ted  grew  very  red  and  then  very  white. 

"  Standish,"  said  Van  Bibber,  jumping  up 
and  reaching  for  his  hat,  "  pay  this  chap  for 
these  things,  will  you,  and  I'll  get  rid  of 
your  brother." 

Van  Bibber  descended  the  steps  lighting  a 
cigar  as  the  elder  Standish  came  up  them  on 
a  jump. 

"Hello,  Standish!"  shouted  the  New  York 
er.  "  Wait  a  minute  ;  where  are  you  going  ? 
Why,  it  seems  to  rain  Standishes  to-day !  First 
see  your  brother;  then  I  see  you.  What's  on? r' 


VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN.         231 

"You've  seen  him?"  cried  the  Boston 
man,  eagerly.  "  Yes,  and  where  is  he  ?  Was 
she  with  him?  Are  they  married?  Am  I  in 
time  ?  " 

Van  Bibber  answered  these  different  ques' 
tions  to  the  effect  that  he  had  seen  young 
Standish  and  Mrs.  Standish  not  a  half  an 
hour  before,  and  that  they  were  just  then 
taking  a  cab  for  Jersey  City,  whence  they 
were  to  depart  for  Chicago. 

"  The  driver  who  brought  them  here  and 
who  told  me  where  they  were,  said  they  could 
not  have  left  this  place  by  the  time  I  would 
reach  it,"  said  the  elder  brother,  doubtfully. 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  driver  of  the  cab, 
who  had  listened  curiously.  "  I  brought  'em 
here  not  more'n  half  an  hour  ago.  Just  had 
time  to  get  back  to  the  depot.  They  can't 
have  gone  long." 

"  Yes,  but  they  have,"  said  Van  Bibber. 
"However,  if  you  get  over  to  Jersey  City 
in  time  for  the  2.30,  you  can  reach  Chicago 
almost  as  soon  as  they  do.  They  are  going 
to  the  Palmer  House,  they  said." 

"  Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  shouted  Standish, 
jumping  back  into  his  hansom.  "  It's  a  terri 
ble  business.  Pair  of  young  fools.  Nobody 


232         VAN  BIBBEE  AS  BEST  MAN. 

objected  to  the  marriage,  only  too  young,  you 
know.  Ever  so  much  obliged." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  Van  Bibber,  po 
litely. 

"  Now  then,"  said  that  young  man,  as  he 
approached  the  frightened  couple  trembling 
on  the  terrace,  "  I've  sent  your  brother  off  to 
Chicago.  I  do  not  know  why  I  selected  Chi 
cago  as  a  place  where  one  would  go  on  a 
honeymoon.  But  I'm  not  used  to  lying  and 
I'm  not  very  good  at  it.  Now,  if  you  will 
introduce  me,  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  toward 
getting  you  two  babes  out  of  the  woods." 

Standish  said,  "Miss  Cambridge,  this  is 
Mr.  Cortlandt  Van  Bibber,  of  whom  you  have 
heard  my  brother  speak,"  and  Miss  Cambridge 
said  she  was  very  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Van  Bib 
ber  even  under  such  peculiarly  trying  circum 
stances. 

"  Now  what  you  two  want  to  do,"  said  Van 
Bibber,  addressing  them  as  though  they  were 
just  about  fifteen  years  old  and  he  were  at  least 
forty,  "  is  to  give  this  thing  all  the  publicity 
you  can." 

"  What  ?  "  chorused  the  two  runaways,  in 
violent  protest. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Van  Bibber.    "  You  were 


VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN,         233 

about  to  make  a  fatal  mistake.  You  were 
about  to  go  to  some  unknown  clergyman  of 
an  unknown  parish,  who  would  have  married 
you  in  a  back  room,  without  a  certificate 
or  a  witness,  just  like  any  eloping  farmer's 
daughter  and  lightning-rod  agent.  Now  it's 
different  with  you  two.  Why  you  were  not 
married  respectably  in  church  I  don't  know, 
and  I  do  not  intend  to  ask,  but  a  kind  Provi 
dence  has  sent  me  to  you  to  see  that  there  is 
no  talk  nor  scandal,  which  is  such  bad  form, 
and  which  would  have  got  your  names  into 
all  the  papers.  I  am  going  to  arrange  this 
wedding  properly,  and  you  will  kindly  remain 
here  until  I  send  a  carriage  for  you.  Now 
just  rely  on  me  entirely  and  eat  your  luncheon 
in  peace.  It's  all  going  to  come  out  right  — 
and  allow  me  to  recommend  the  salad,  which 
is  especially  good." 

Van  Bibber  first  drove  madly  to  the  little 
Church  Around  the  Corner,  where  he  told  the 
kind  old  rector  all  about  it,  and  arranged  to 
have  the  church  open  and  the  assistant  organ 
ist  in  her  place,  and  a  district-messenger  boy  to 
blow  the  bellows  punctually  at  three  o'clock. 
"  And  now,"  he  soliloquized,  "  I  must  get 
some  names.  It  doesn't  matter  much  whether 


234         VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN. 

they  happen  to  know  the  high  contracting 
parties  or  not,  but  they  must  be  names  that 
everybody  knows.  Whoever  is  in  town  will 
be  lunching  at  Delmonico's,  and  the  men  will 
be  at  the  clubs."  So  he  first  went  to  the  big 
restaurant,  where,  as  good  luck  would  have 
it,  he  found  Mrs.  "  Regy  "  Van  Arnt  and  Mrs. 
"  Jack  "  Peabody,  and  the  Misses  Brookline, 
who  had  run  up  the  Sound  for  the  day  on  the 
yacht  Minerva  of  the  Boston  Yacht  Club, 
and  he  told  them  how  things  were  and  swore 
them  to  secrecy,  and  told  them  to  bring  what 
men  they  could  pick  up. 

At  the  club  he  pressed  four  men  into  ser 
vice  who  knew  everybody  and  whom  every 
body  knew,  and  when  they  protested  that  they 
had  not  been  properly  invited  and  that  they 
only  knew  the  bride  and  groom  by  sight,  he 
told  them  that  made  no  difference,  as  it  was 
only  their  names  he  wanted.  Then  he  sent  a 
messenger  boy  to  get  the  biggest  suit  of  rooms 
on  the  Fall  River  boat  and  another  one  for 
flowers,  and  then  he  put  Mrs.  "  Regy  "  Van 
Arnt  into  a  cab  and  sent  her  after  the  bride, 
and,  as  best  man,  he  got  into  another  cab  and 
carried  off  the  groom. 

u  I  have  acted  either  as  best  man  or  usher 


VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN.        235 

forty-two  times  now,"  said  Van  Bibber,  as 
they  drove  to  the  church,  "and  this  is  the 
first  time  I  ever  appeared  in  either  capacity 
in  russia-leather  shoes  and  a  blue  serge 
yachting  suit.  But  then,"  he  added  content 
edly,  "you  ought  to  see  the  other  fellows. 
One  of  them  is  in  a  striped  flannel." 

Mrs.  "  Regy  "  and  Miss  Cambridge  wept  a 
great  deal  on  the  way  up  town,  but  the  bride 
was  smiling  and  happy  when  she  walked  up 
the  aisle  to  meet  her  prospective  husband, 
who  looked  exceedingly  conscious  before  the 
eyes  of  the  men,  all  of  whom  he  knew  by 
sight  or  by  name,  and  not  one  of  whom  he 
had  ever  met  before.  But  they  all  shook 
hands  after  it  was  over,  and  the  assistant 
organist  played  the  Wedding  March,  and  one 
of  the  club  men  insisted  in  pulling  a  cheerful 
and  jerky  peal  on  the  church  bell  in  the  ab 
sence  of  the  janitor,  and  then  Van  Bibber 
hurled  an  old  shoe  and  a  handful  of  rice  — 
which  he  had  thoughtfully  collected  from  the 
chef  at  the  club  —  after  them  as  they  drove  off 
to  the  boat. 

"Now,"  said  Van  Bibber,  with  a  proud  sigh 
of  relief  and  satisfaction,  "I  will  send  that 
to  the  papers,  and  when  it  is  printed  to- 


236         VAN  BIBBER  AS  BEST  MAN. 

morrow  it  will  read  like  one  of  the  most  or 
thodox  and  one  of  the  smartest  weddings  of 
the  season.  And  yet  I  can't  help  think 
ing-" 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  "Regy,"  as  he  paused 
doubtfully. 

"Well,  I  can't  help  thinking,"  continued 
Van  Bibber,  "  of  Standish's  older  brother  rac 
ing  around  Chicago  with  the  thermometer  at 
102  in  the  shade.  I  wish  I  had  only  sent 
him  to  Jersey  City.  It  just  shows,"  he 
added  mournfully,  "  that  when  a  man  is  not 
practised  in  lying,  he  should  leave  it  alone." 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.,  Boston. 
Presswork  by  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston. 


RIEF  LIST  OF  BOOKS  OF  FICTION 
PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 
SONS,  743-745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


William  Waldorf  Astor. 

VALENTINO:  An  Historical  Romance.  (I2mo,  $1.00).— SFORZA:  A  Story  of 
Milan.  (I2mo,  $1.50.) 

"  The  story  is  full  of  clear-cut  little  tableaux  of  mediaeval  Italian 
manners,  customs,  and  observances.  The  movement  throughout  is 
spirited,  the  reproduction  of  bygone  times  realistic.  Mr.  Astor  has 
written  a  romance  which  will  heighten  the  reputation  he  made  b) 
4  Valentino. "'—The  New  York  Tribune. 

Arlo  Bates. 

A  WHEEL  OF  FIRE.     (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"  The  novel  deals  with  character  rather  than  incident,  and  is 
evolved  from  one  of  the  most  terrible  of  moral  problems  with  a 
subtlety  not  unlike  that  of  Hawthorne.  One  cannot  enumerate  all 
the  fine  points  of  artistic  skill  which  make  this  study  so  wonderful 
in  its  insight,  so  rare  in  its  combination  of  dramatic  power  and 
tenderness."— 7^  Critic. 

Hjalmar  H.  Boyesen. 

FALCONBERG.  Illustrated  (I2mo,  $1.50)— GUNNAR.  (Sq.  I2mo,  paper, 
50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25)— TALES  FROM  TWO  HEMISPHERES.  (Sq.  I2mo, 
$1.00)— ILKA  ON  THE  HILL  TOP,  and  Other  Stories.  (Sq.  I2mo,  $1.00) 
—QUEEN  TITANIA  (Sq.  I2mo,  $1.00). 

"Mr.  Boyesen's  stories  possess  a  sweetness,  a  tenderness,  and  a 
drollery  that  are  fascinating,  and  yet  they  are  no  more  attractive 
than  they  are  strong  " — The  Home  Journal. 

H.  C.  'Bunner. 

THE  STORY  OF  A  NEW  YORK  HOUSE.  Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost.  (I2mo, 
$I.25F-THE  MIDGE.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $I.OO)-ZADOC  PINE, 
and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"It  is  Mr.  Bunner' s  delicacy  of  touch  and  appreciation  of  what 
is  literary  art  that  give  his  writings  distinctive  quality.  Everything 
Mr.  Bunner  paints  shows  the  happy  appreciation  of  an  author  who 
has  not  alone  mental  discernment,  but  the  artistic  appreciation. 
The  author  and  the  artist  both  supplement  one  another  in  this  ex 
cellent  'Story  of  a  New  York  House.'"—  The  New  York  Times. 


a         SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 

Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

THAT  LASS  0'  LOWRIE'S.  Illustrated  (paper,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  $1.25)- 
HAWORTH'S.  Illustrated  (I2mo,  $1.25)— THROUGH  ONE  ADMINISTRA 
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EARLIER  STORIES— First  Series,  EARLIER  STORIES-  Second  Series 
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LITTLE  LORD  FAUNTLEROY.  (Sq.  8vo,  $2.00) -SARA  CREWE;  or, 
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ELIZABETH,  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  $1.50.)  Illustrated  by  R.  B.  Birch. 

"  Mrs.  Burnett  discovers  gracious  secrets  in  rough  and  forbidding 
natures — the  sweetness  that  often  underlies  their  bitterness — the  soul 
of  goodness  in  things  evil.  She  seems  to  have  an  intuitive  percep 
tion  of  character.  If  we  apprehend  her  personages,  and  I  think  we 
do  clearly,  it  is  not  because  she  describes  them  to  us,  but  because 
they  reveal  themselves  in  their  actions.  Mrs.  Burnett's  characters 
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William  Allen  Butler. 

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The  author's  style  is  highly  finished.  One  might  term  it  old-fashioned 
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of  Commerce. 

George  \V.  Cable. 

THE  GRANDISSIMES.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  $I.25)-OLD  CREOLE 
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The  set,  4  vols.,  $5.00. 

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and  a  peculiar  people.  A  delicious  flavor  of  humor  penetrates  hii 
stories." — The  New  York  Tribune, 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Harding  Davis. 

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Edward  Eggleston. 

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contrasted  characters,  and  its  unconventional,  hearty,  religious  spirit, 
took  hold  of  the  public  imagination."  —  The  Christian  Union. 

Erckmann-Cbatrian  . 

THE  CONSCRIPT.  lllustrated-WATERLOO.  Illustrated.  (Sequel  to  The 
Conscript.)—  MADAME  TH£RE"SE—  THE  BLOCKADE  OF  PHALSBURG. 
Illustrated  -THE  INVASION  OF  FRANCE  IN  1814.  Illustrated  -  A 
MILLER'S  STORY  OF  THE  WAR.  Illustrated. 

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Eugene  Field. 

A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  PROFITABLE  TALES.    (I6mo,  $1.25.) 

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sympathetic,  Mr.  Field  has  already  made  a  mark  in  the  literature 
of  the  day,  which  will  not  quickly  wear  out."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

Harold  Frederic. 

SETH'S  BROTHER'S  WIFE.  (I2mo,  $1  25)—  THE  LAWTON  GIRL.  (I2mo, 
$1.25;  paper,  50  cts.)—  IN  THE  VALLEY.  Illustrated  (I2mo,  $1.50). 

"  Mr  Frederic's  new  tale  takes  a  wide  range,  includes  many 
characters,  and  embraces  a  field  of  action  full  of  dramatic  climaxes. 
It  is  almost  reasonable  to  assert  that  there  has  not  been  since 
Cooper's  day  a  better  American  novel  dealing  with  a  purely  his 
torical  theme  than  '  In  the  Valley,'  "  —  Boston  Beacon. 

Jctave  Tbanet. 

EXPIATION.     Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost.  (I2mo,  psper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.; 

"  This  remarkable  novel  shows  an  extraordinary  grasp  of  drama 
tic  possibilities  as  well  as  an  exquisite  delicacy  of  character  drawing. 
Miss  French  has  with  this  work,  taken  her  place  among  the  veij 
foremost  of  American  writers  of  fiction."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


4         SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 

James  Anthony  Froude. 

THE  TWO  CHIEFS  OF  DUNBOY.    An  Irish   Romance  of  the  Last  Cetituryt 

(I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.50.) 

"  The  narrative  is  full  of  vigor,  spirit,  and  dramatic  power.  It 
will  unquestionably  be  widely  read,  for  it  presents  a  vivid  and  life' 
like  study  of  character  with  romantic  color  and  adventurous  incident; 
for  the  background. " — The  New  York  Tribune. 

Robert  Grant. 

FACE  TO  FACE.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.25)— THE  REFLECTIONS 
OF  A  MARRIED  MAN.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

A  delicious  vein  of  humor  runs  through  this  new  book  by  the 
author  of  "  The  Confessions  of  a  Frivolous  Girl,"  who  takes  the 
reader  into  his  confidence  and  gives  a  picture  of  married  life  that  is 
as  bright  and  entertaining  as  it  is  amusing. 

Edward  Everett  Hale. 

PHILIP  NOLAN'S  FRIENDS.  Illustrated  (I2mo,  Paper,  50  cents;  Cloth, 
$1.75.) 

"  There  is  no  question,  we  think,  that  this  is  Mr.  Kale's  com. 
pletest  and  best  novel.  The  characters  are  for  the  most  part  well 
drawn,  and  several  of  them  are  admirable." — The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

Marion  Harland. 

JUDITH:  A  Chronicle  of  Old  Virginia.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1  00) 
—HANDICAPPED.  (I2mo,  $1.50).— WITH  THE  BEST  INTENTIONS. 
A  Midsummer  Episode.  (I2mo,  Cloth,  $1.25;  Paper,  50  cents.) 

"  Fiction  has  afforded  no  more  charming  glimpses  of  old  Virginia 
life  than  are  found  in  this  delightful  story,  with  its  quaint  pictures, 
its  admirably  drawn  characters,  its  wit,  and  its  frankness." — Th* 
Brooklyn  Daily  Times. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

FREE  JOE,  and  Other  Georgian  Sketches.    (!2mo,  paper,  50  cts.,  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"  The  author's  skill  as  a  story  writer  has  never  been  more  felic 
itously  illustrated  than  in  this  volume.  The  title  story  is  meagre 
almost  to  baldness  in  incident,  but  its  quaint  humor,  its  simple  but 
broadly  outlined  characters,  and,  above  all,  its  touching  pathos, 
combine  to  make  it  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind." —  The  New  York  Sun. 

Augustus  Allen  Hayes. 

THE  JESUIT'S  RING.  A  Romance  of  Mount  Desert  (I2mo,  paper,  50  eta.-, 
cloth,  $1.00). 

"The  conception  of  the  story  is  excellent,0 —  The  Boston  Travelier- 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION.          5 

George  A.  Hibbard. 

THE  GOVERNOR,  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  cloth,  $1.00 ;  paper,  50  cents.) 
Six  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Hibbard's  magazine  stories  are  included  in 
this  volume.  Mr.  Howells,  in  Harper's,  refers  to  Mr.  Hibbard's 
work  as  having  a  "  certain  felicity  of  execution  and  a  certain  ideal 
of  performance  which  are  not  common.  The  wish  to  deal  with 
poetic  material  in  the  region  of  physical  conjecture  is  curiously 
blended  with  the  desire  of  portraying  the  life  of  the  society  world." 

E.  T.  W.  Hoffmann. 

WEIRD  TALES.     With  Portrait.    (I2mo,  2  vols.,  $3.00.) 

"All  those  who  are  in  search  of  a  genuine  literary  sensation,  or 
who  care  for  the  marvelous  and  supernatural,  will  find  these  two 
volumes  fascinating  reading." — The  Christian  Union. 

Dr.  J.  G.  Holland. 

SEVEN  OAKS—THE    BAY    PATH— ARTHUR   BONNICASTLE— MISS    GIL- 
BERT'S  CAREER-NICHOLAS  MINTURN. 

Each,  ismo,  $1.25  ;  the  set,  $6.25;  Sevenoaks,  paper,  jo  cents. 

"  Dr.  Holland  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the  homes 
of  culture  and  refinement.  He  does  not  affect  the  play  of  the  darker 
and  fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in  the  sweet  images  that  cluster 
around  the  domestic  hearth.  He  cherishes  a  strong  fellow-feeling 
with  the  pure  and  tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social  circles  of  the 
American  people,  and  has  thus  won  his  way  to  the  companionship 
of  many  friendly  hearts." — The  New  York  Tribune. 

Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

COLOR  STUDIES,  AND  A  MEXICAN  CAMPAIGN.     (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.00.) 

"  Piquant,  novel,  and  ingenious,  these  little  stories,  with  all  their 
simplicity,  have  excited  a  wide  interest.  The  best  of  them,  '  Jaune 
D'Antimoine,'  is  a  little  wonder  in  its  dramatic  effect,  its  ingenious 
construction." — The  Critic. 

Virginia  W.  Johnson. 

THE  FAINALLS  OF  TIPTON.     (I2mo,  $1.25.) 

"  The  plot  is  good,  and  in  its  working-out  original.  Character- 
drawing  is  Miss  Johnson's  recognized  forte,  and  her  pen-sketches  are 
quite  up  to  her  best  work." — The  Boston  Commonwealth. 

Lieut.  J.  D.  J.  Kelley. 

A  DESPERATE  CHANCE.     (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

The  King's  Men: 

A  TALE  OF  TO-MORROW.     By  Robert  Grant,  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  J.  S./ 
of  Dale,  and  John  T.  WeeS  wright.    (I2mo,  $1.25.) 


6         SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 

Andrew  Lang. 

THE  MARK  OF  CAIN.     (I2mo,  paper,  25  cts.) 

"  No  one  can  deny  that  it  is  crammed  as  full  of  incident  as  it  will 
hold,  or  that  the  elaborate  plot  is  worked  out  with  most  ingenious 
perspicuity." — The  Saturday  Review, 

George  P.  Latbrop. 

NEWPORT.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts;  cloth,  $1.25)— AN  ECHO  OF  PASSION. 
(I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00)— IN  THE  DISTANCE.  (I2mo,  paper, 
50  cts;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"  His  novels  have  the  refinement  of  motive  which  characterize 
the  analytical  school,  but  his  manner  is  far  more  direct  and 
dramatic." — The  Christian  Union. 

Grander  Matthews. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.00)— THE  LAST  MEETING,  (I2mo,  cloth,  $1  00.) 

"  Mr.  Matthews  is  a  man  of  wide  observation  and  of  much 
familiarity  with  the  world.  His  literary  style  is  bright  and  crisp, 
with  a  peculiar  sparkle  about  it — wit  and  humor  judiciously  mingled 
— which  renders  his  pages  more  than  ordinarily  interesting." — The 
Rochester  Post-Express. 

George  Moore. 

VAIN  FORTUNE.     (I2mo,  $1.00.) 

In  this  novel  Mr.  Moore  has  presented  a  subtle  and  powerful 
study  of  character  and  temperament.  An  English  girl,  impulsive, 
passionate,  jealous,  is  the  heroine  of  the  story,  which  portrays  very 
vividly  and  with  extraordinary  truth  to  human  nature  her  emotions 
and  experiences.  No  less  masterly  is  the  author's  study  of  the 
young  playwright  and  of  the  other  personages  in  this  drama  in  real 
life. 

Fit^-James  O"Brien. 

THE  DIAMOND  LENS,  with  Other  Stories.     (I2mo,    paper,   50  r;ts.) 

"  These  stories  are  the  only  things  in  literature  to  be  compared 
with  Poe's  work,  and  if  they  do  not  equal  it  in  workmanship,  they 
certainly  do  not  yield  to  it  in  originality." — The  Philadelphia  .Record. 

Duffield  Osborne. 

THE  SPELL  OF  ASHTAROTH.    (I2mo,  $1.00.) 

Tttiss  Perry. 

THE  BROUOHTON  HOUSE.     (I2mo,  $1.25) 

An  artistic  and  vivid  picture  of  New  England  village  life. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION.         7 

Thomas  Nelson  Page. 

IN  OLE  VIRGINIA— Marse  Chan  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  $1.25)— ON 
NEWFOUND  RIVER.  (I2mo,  $1.00}— ELSKET,  and  Oiher  Stories. 
(I2mo,  $1.00.) 

"  In  '  On  Newfound  River,'  the  rich  promise  of  Mr.  Page's  raiely 
beautiful  short  stories  has  been  fulfilled." — Richmond  Despatch. 

Saxe  Holm's  Stories. 

FIRST  SERIES.— Draxy  Miller's  Dowry— The  Elder's  Wife— Whose  Wife 
Was  She?— The  One-Legged  Dancers— How  One  Woman  Kept  Her  Husband 
—Esther  Wynn's  Love  Letters. 

SECOND  SERIES.— Four-Leaved  Clover— Farmer  Ba«sett's  Romance— My 
Tourmalene— Jos  Male's  Red  Stocking— Susan  Lawton's  Escape. 

Each,  i smo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"Saxe  Holm's'  characters  are  strongly  drawn,  and  she  goes  right  to 
the  heart  of  human  experience  as  one  who  knows  the  way.  We 
heartily  commend  them  as  vigorous,  wholesome,  and  sufficiently 
exciting  stories." — The  Advance. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

STRANGE  CASE  OF  DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR,  HYDE.  (I2mo,  paper,  25 
cts.;  cloth,  $1.00)— KIDNAPPED.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00, 
illustrated,  $1  25)— THE  MERRY  MEN,  and  Other  Tales  and  Fables.  (I2mo, 
paper,  35  cts.;  cloth,  $I.OO)-NEW  ARABIAN  NIGH  IS.  (I2mo,  paper, 
30  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00)— THE  DYNAMITER.  With  Mrs.  Stevenson  (I2mo, 
paper,  30  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00)— THE  BLACK  ARROW.  Illustrated  (I2mo, 
paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00)-  -TH^  WRONG  BOX.  With  Lloyd  Osbourne 
(I2mo,  paper,  50  cts4;  cloth,  $I.OO)-THE  MASTER  OF  BALLANTRAE. 
A  Winter's  Tale.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  illustrated,  $1.25)— THE 
WRECKER.  With  Lloyd  Osbourne.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  illus 
trated.  In  Press.) 

"Stevenson  belongs  to  the  romantic  school  of  fiction  writers. 
He  is  original  in  style,  charming,  fascinating,  and  delicious,  with  a 
marvelous  command  of  words,  and  with  a  manner  ever  delightful 
and  magnetic." — Boston  Transcript. 

T.  R.  Sullivan. 

DAY  AND  NIGHT  STORIES.  (I2mo,  cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cts.)-ROSES 
OF  SHADOW.  (I2mo,  $1.00.) 

"  Mr  Sullivan's  style  is  at  once  easy  and  refined,  conveying  most 
happily  that  atmosphere  of  good  breeding  and  polite  society  which 
is  indispensable  to  the  novel  of  manners,  but  which  so  many  of 
them  lamentably  fail  of." — The  Nation. 


8         SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 

Frederick  J.  Stimson  (J.S.,  of  Dale.) 

GUERNDALE.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  els.;  cloth,  $1.25)— THE  CRIME  OF  HENRY 
VANE.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cis.;  cloth,  $1.00)— THE  SENTIMENTAL  CALEN 
DAR.  Head  Pieces  by  F.  G.  Attwood  (I2mo,  $2.00)— FIRST  HARVESTS. 
A.i  Episode  in  the  Career  of  Mrs.  Lcvison  Gower,  a  Satire  without  a  Moral 
(I2mo,  $1.25)— THE  RESIDUARY  LEGATEE;  or,  The  Posthumous  Jest  o« 
the  Late  John  Austin.  (I2mo,  paper,  35  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"No  young  novelist  in  this  country  seems  better  equipped  than 
Mr.  Stimson  is.  He  shows  unusual  gifts  in  this  and  in  his  othei 
stories."—  The  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

Frank  R.  Stockton. 

RUDDER  GRANGE.  (I2mo,  paper,  60  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25;  illustrated  by  A.  B. 
Frost,  Sq.  I2mo,  $2.00)—  THE  LATE  MRS.  NULL.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.25)— THE  LADY,  OR  THE  TIGER?  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mo, 
paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25)— THE  CHRISTMAS  WRECK,  and  Other 
Stories.  (!2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25)— THE  BEE-MAN  OF  ORN, 
and  Other  Fanciful  Tales.  (I2mo,  cloth,  (2.25)— AMOS  KILBRIGHT,  with 
Other  Stories.  (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25)— THE  RUDDER  GRANG 
ERS  ABROAD,  and  Other  Stories.  (I2mc,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.) 

"  Of  Mr.  Stockton's  stories  what  is  there  to  say,  but  that  they 
are  an  unmixed  blessing  and  delight  ?  He  is  surely  one  of  the  most 
inventive  of  talents,  discovering  not  only  a  new  kind  in  humor  and 
fancy,  but  accumulrting  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  details  in  each 
fresh  achievement,  the  least  of  which  would  be  riches  from  another 
hand." — W.  D.  1 1  DWELLS,  in  Harper 's  Magazine. 

Stories  by  American  Authors. 

Cloth,  i6mo,^oc.  each;  set,  lovols.,  $5.00,'  cabinet  fd.t  in  sets  only,  $7.50, 

"  The  public  ought  to  appreciate  the  value  of  this  series,  which 
is  preserving  permanently  in  American  literature  short  stories  that 
have  contributed  to  its  advancement.  American  writers  lead  all 
others  in  this  form  of  fiction,  and  their  best  work  appears  in  these 
volumes." — The  Boston  Globe. 

John  T.  Wheelwright. 

A  CHILD  OF  THE  CENTURY.    (I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.) 

"A  typical  story  of  political  and  social  life,  free  from  cynicism  of 
morbid  realism,  and  brimming  over  with  good-natured  fun,  which  if 
never  vulgar. " —  The  Christian  at  Work. 


STORED  AT  N 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


pn-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


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